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PLACES AND PEOPLE. 



LONDON: 
BOBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. 



PLACES AND PEOPLE: 



itttiJttS ixam i^t ^ife. 



J^ &: PAKKINSON, 

AUTHOR OF " UNDER GOVERNMENT," ETC. ETC. 



" Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws." 

Timon of Athens, 



LONDON: 

TINSLEY BKOTHEES, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 

1869. 




NOTE. 

With two exceptions, these studies of ** Places 
and People" have been made, from time to 
time, for All the Year Round and the Daily 
News; and are now reprinted by permission. 
The articles ** Jamrach's" and "Over the Water" 
appeared originally in Tinsleys' Magazine. 

J. C. PARKINSON. 

Thornton Hill, Wimbledon, 
October 1869. 



CONTENTS. 



Jamrach's . . . . . ■ 

Lazarus, Lotus-eating 
Extraordinary Horse-dealing . 

Ealse Hair 

Sunday Trading .... 

Over the Water .... 

The Hole in the Wall 

Prisoners' Friends .... 

COGERS ...... 

Saturday-night in a Pawnbroker's Shop 

Lucifer-box Making 

The Thames Police .... 

#Ut of ©OiDtl. 

Under the Sea .... 

Told by a Tramp .... 
The Tunbridge- Wells Coach . 

Ifnstilutiotts. 
Our Pharmaceutical Chemists . 
The Hospital for Incurables . 
What is the Good of Ereemasoxry 1 



PAGE 

I 
19 

38 

70 

81 

89 

III 

130 

138 

154 

165 

186 

197 
214 
230 



244 
254 
266 



VIU 



CONTENTS. 



Sporting. 
Against the Grain . 


PAGE 
. 282 


Aristocratic Pigeon-shooting . 


. 300 


A Suburban Fishery 


. 311 


Genii op the King . . . . 


. 321 


Sunday Dog-shows . 


. 341 



PLACES AID PEOPLE. 



JAMRACH'S. 

Jamrach's is to a wild -beast sliow wliat a vast 
Manchester warehouse is to a small huckster's 
shop. Here you may be supplied with hyenas 
by the dozen, lions in neat little lots of twenty 
to five - and - twenty each; ''parcels" of giraffes, 
snakes, or boa -constrictors ; and *' samples" of 
tigers, buffaloes, eagles, monkeys, bears, and 
kangaroos in great variety. An ill - assorted 
Noah's Ark stocked by an impulsive but com- 
mercially - minded Noah, who has taken in too 
many animals of some kinds to the exclusion of 
the rest ; an ark which has put in at the London 
Docks and been carried piecemeal up Eatcliffe 
Highway, and scattered in detachments about the 
district of Shadwell, E. : such is Jamrach's. 

B 



i5 JAMRACH S. 

The very name is odd, and sounds like a com- 
bination of the Jarley whose waxworks were be- 
loved by the nobility, and Morok the beast-tamer 
in the Wandering Jetv. But there is far more 
of stern reality than amusing fiction about Jam- 
rach. The roar of his lions is very real, and has. 
no more of the sucking dove about it than cooling 
regimen, spare diet, and confinement will supply* 
Some years ago one of his tigers stepped from 
his cage into the street, and, snapping up a boy 
as the most toothsome morsel handy, wagged its 
tail, and was complacently trotting down this 
narrow little street, until gently roused to a sense 
of the restraints of civilisation by means of the 
very iron bar you see barricading the doorway 
now. Some time since, the Commercial-road was 
roused at six in the morning by one of Jamrach's 
elephants, which was being led to the docks for 
shipment to New York, and who resented (as who 
would not, save a vain woman ?) the introduction 
of a sharp metal instrument through the thin part 
of his ear. 

A keen-eyed lithe little man, whose clothes 
are patched and seamed to an extent strangely 
disproportionate to their apparent age, and who 
emphasises his discourse by waving a peculiar 
metal instrument — ^lialf tomahawk, half butcher's- 
steel ; a little man who is gifted with that sonor- 



JAMEACH S. 6 

ous profundity of tone which signalises some 
branches of the theatrical and equestrian profes- 
sions, and who speaks of the " Woppetty Deer 
from the Hunited States of Hamerikee," at SOL a 
''pair," and " the Hemu from South Hamerikee, 
or bird with-hout-(in one word) -wing- tail-or-tongue, 
at 14:1.," as familiarly as if they were poor relations : 
— such is my guide over Jamrach's. Far away in 
that eastern district, which has been so frequently 
and to such good purpose explored by the philoso- 
phic investigator ; past that far from silent high- 
way which Jack ashore is rapidly becoming wise 
enough to eschew ; down the unsavoury thorough- 
fares encircling the little Shadwell police-station, 
which has so frequently provided us with an in- 
telligent and trustworthy guide ; and hastily leav- 
ing our old friend the Chinese Opium-eater after 
a kindly word of recognition, — we are being intro- 
duced at Jamrach's to the lithe little man. 

Our belief w^as, then, that we were on untrod- 
den ground in a literary sense, and that it would 
be our privilege to first introduce this strange es- 
tablishment with a strange name to the world at 
large ; but on this head we were speedily undeceived. 
Our good friend and entertainer, to whom we were 
introduced with much formality by the sergeant 
of police who had kindly accompanied me en ama- 
teur, is Jamrach's head man. Jamrach himself is 



^ JAMRACH S. 

at '' Vi-henner" meeting an interesting group of 
" 22 Hafrican 'ornbills (at 51. a-piece), 4 lions 
(at 3001. the lot), 10 ostriches (at 501. a-piece), 4 
striped eyenas (at 600L the lot), and 14 spotted 
eyenas (at 45Z. each)." Jamrach's son is at the 
Zoological Gardens transacting a little business, 
in which, if we mistake not, " a group of birds, the 
first hever seen in Hurope by any mortal man," 
has some share ; and the hospitable duty of 
showing us over yards and lofts and dens and 
cellars, all crammed with wild-beasts, or birds, 
or reptiles, devolves upon his able representative, 
the man in the patched clothes. " He has been 
with Mr. Jamrach a many years ; once saved a boy 
from a tiger (the one just named) which broke 
loose and was a-walking down that very street 
with the lad in his mouth, and just a-goin' to 
crack 'im as if he was a nut ; has 'ad every bit 
of clothes he's got torn almost oif his back by 
* the stock' — sometimes hout of spitefulness, but 
hoftenest hout of play, and is keeper, describer, 
and performer by profession." 

We were certain of it. That unctuous twang, 
that drooping of the eyelids and rigid calmness 
of face after a startling announcement has been 
shot out like a pellet from a popgun, could only 
have been acquired in a circus or menagerie, or 
a booth of strollers. " Whenever I 'ave a few 



JAMRACH S. 0- 

words with Mr. Jamracli, wliicli I had a few not 
many weeks ago, I takes to the show business, 
and am allers ready to go in. — Eliza!" — this 
shouted up to the window of a loft under which 
were the kennels of a couple of unpleasantly lively 
bears, and which faces a motley family of mon- 
keys, porcupines, opossums, and kangaroos, — 
*' Eliza! how many wescuts and coats have I, Avhich 
you've 'ad to mend before they was worn out?" 
And when " Thirteen" was given in reply in a 
rather shrewish female voice, Jamrach's head man 
turned to us with a modest smile Avhich would 
have become a Peninsular veteran alluding to his 
medal of many clasps. 

" This 'ere scar" (baring an arm and showing 
a deep flesh-wound, recently cicatrised) "I got in 
the Kingsland-road, on the 20th of this month. 
A Bengal tiger it was, and I vv^as a-performing 
with the same beasts as was at the Crystal Palace 
a short time arterwards. Me and Mr. Jamrach 'ad 
'ad a few words, we 'ad, and I took up with the 
performing, which I'd been accustomed to. Well, 
I see the tiger for the first time at four in the 
arternoon ; and I goes into her den, and puts 
her through her ankypanky at eight. As a mat- 
ter o' course I 'ad to giv' her the whip a bit, and 
she, not knowing my voice, don't you see, got 
fidgety and didn't like it. To make matters worse 



b JAMRACH S. 

moresumever, this tiger bein' fond of jumpin', tliey 
went and shortened the cage, so that when I giv' 
the word she fell short of her reg'lar jump, and 
came upon me. I don't believe she meant mis- 
chief; I only fancy she got timid-like, and not 
being accustomed to what she 'ad under 'er, she 
makes a grab and does wot you see. The com- 
pany got scared ; the ladies screamed, and the 
performance was stopped for a time. What did 
I do ? — why, directly they came in with iron bars 
and made her loose her hold, I jest giv' her the 
whip agen, and made her go through the jump 
till she got more satisfied like; but she w^as timid, 
very timid, to the last, and tore off the flesh right 
to the elbow here. No, sir, I never stopped the 
performance after the first time, though I was 
being mauled above a bit, while the people was 
a clapping their 'ands, and shrieking murder. It 
don't do with beasts to let 'em think you're un- 
easy, so each time she tore me with her claws, I just 
giv' her the whip, till she saw it wouldn't do. Wot 
do I mean by bein' badly treated by the literary 
gent who came here twelve year ago ? Why, he 
saw all over the place ; had the bar in his hand 
which I'd knocked the tiger down with when the 
boy was saved; 'andles my elephant-'ook, and then 
goes and giv's a regular account of me and of Mr. 
Jamrach's beasts, and never as much as mentions 



JAMEACH S. 



my name. Wliat 'arm would it 'a' clone to say 
Kobert Norwood was the man wlio did the trick, 
and that he has been a ' keeper, describer, and per- 
former,' for these many years? Worse than bein' 
torn by tigers, not having one's name in print ? 
Well it ain't that, but right's right, and as old 
Mr. Jamrach's is talked of all over Europe as the 
great hemporium for beasts and birds and rep- 
tiles, it is but natural I should like to be known 
as the man who is game to perform with any 
animal, trained or untrained, at a hour's notice; 
and who has bin with Mr. Jamrach these fifteen 
years. Why, bless your soul, sir, this place weren't 
nothing when I come to it. This yard wasn't half 
cleaned. There weren't no water to speak of, and 
the animals were in a regular muddle. Noav, you 
see what it is, and though we're not nearly so full 
as we are sometimes, I'll show you round with 
pleasure if you'd like to come." 

Jamrach's establishment is in three divisions ; 
two of these are on opposite sides of Katcliffe 
Highway, and the third is up a narrow street 
leading out of the same thoroughfare. Eobert 
Norwood, "keeper, describer, and performer," had 
taken us to the last-named one first ; and the 
yard, to the improved appearance of which he has 
referred with no little pride, is one of the most 
disagreeable spots it has been our fortune to ex- 



O JAMRACH S. 

plore. Open at tlie top, it is yet so narrow that 
we seem within touching -distance of unsavoury 
animals on the one hand, and ohscene birds on 
the other. Monkeys grin and chatter oyer our 
heads ; red-eyed vultures blink and wink at our 
sides ; while deer and bears, and tiger and hyena- 
cubs, roar and gambol in the confined boxes around 
us, as if eagerly coveting a slice of the "keeper, 
describer, and performer," or of ourselves. Jam- 
rach's is simply a wholesale warehouse for wild- 
beasts. Agents and touts are on the watch for 
it all over the world. One of its "travellers" is 
now in the interior of Africa bargaining for live 
elephants ; another telegraphed from Southamp- 
ton an hour ago of a homeward-bound ship hav- 
ing been spoken vrith, on which a lively young- 
bear was seen disporting in the forecastle ; while 
a third has run down to Oravesend to meet and 
board an East Indiaman which is reported to 
have some rare birds among its live stock. The 
" keeper, describer, and performer" gives us this 
information unaffectedly, but resumes his show- 
man manner like a mask directly he talks of the 
animals near, thus: "A young Thibet bear, 
bought of a captain's steward on board a ship 
a-going up the Nore — fellow one sent off to Bar- 
num's Museum in New York last week — eats 
three pounds o' bread a-day, and is allowed one 



JAMRACH S. y 

gill of water — price 15L," is given in that unna- 
turally sturdy monotone we hear in shows all over 
the world. 

Jamrach's business is, we find, mainly with the 
Continent and the United States, the animals sold 
in the United Kingdom being in the proportion 
of one to twelve. A brown bear of three years 
old is next described ; and on being addressed as 
" Dick" makes frantic efforts to tear down the 
iron bars of its cage, and so come to close quarters 
with Mr. Norwood. "Had to knock him about 
a bit with the bar when I was gitting him in here, 
and they don't forgit yer, animals don't," remarks 
that gentleman philosophically, while "Dick's" 
fury develops itself into a climax of impotent rage. 
This poor brute has lost an eye, and bears other 
marks of ill-usage. 

"Bin a little roughly handled by the sailors, 
coming over; besides, he's a spiteful warmint, 
and don't know wot to be at for wice. My little 
boy can go right in to him, though, without a bit 
of fuss ; but as for me, he can't abide me. — Can 
yer, Dick ? Yah ! yer old fool, wot are yer flur- 
rying yer self for ? Look 'ere" (rubs the bars of 
the cage noisily with an iron bar until the bear 
fairly stands upon his head and topples over and 
over with passion). " Yah ! yah ! poor old Dick," 
sneeringiy continues Mr. Norwood. "Can't he 



10 jamrach's. 

spot me, then ? Yes, he'd maul me if he could, 
there ain't a doubt of it ; but the bar's very use- 
ful, and I daresay I'd manage to git out of his 
way after givin' him a crack or two, even if he 
were loose. He'll most likely go over to Paris, 
he will, and then he'll have to be moved, of course. 
How do we get 'em out ? Just drive 'em from 
their cage to the one they're to travel in, and 
send them orf. Big beasts — elephants, rhinoce- 
roses, and such-like — I walks down to the docks 
early in the morning before there's much stirring. 
— Eliza !" (to the window), " bring me my ele- 
phant-'ook. — Now you see, sir, this ere sharp end 
goes through the thin part of the ear, which is 
the most tenderest of parts, and I leads 'em along 
quite comfortable in a general way. Last Tues- 
day morning though, there was a big African ele- 
phant I was shipping at the London Docks, and 
do what I would I couldn't get the beast to move 
when we got as far as the Commercial-road. I 
tried him with coaxing, and I tried him with 
prods in every tender place I could think of, but 
he were as nasty as he could be ; and beyond 
givin' a roar, and once tryin' to roll on me, he 
took no notice whatsumever, but just planted his 
feet and stood still looking at me all the time with 
his wicked little eye as spiteful as you please. 
I thought I should never have got him down ; 



jameach's. 11 

l)ut the 'ook did it at last, and lie moved all at 
once wlien lie did move. It's tlie handiest tiling 
out is a sharp 'ook through the ear ; for they can't 
go either backwards or forwards without feeling 
you're all there." 

To see this small patched figure waving the 
hutcher's steel much as a linendraper's shopman 
would a yard-measure, while he dilated on the 
merits of judicious coercion, with ''Dick" eyeing 
him hungrily meanwhile, was highly suggestive 
of an ultimate crunching-up and rending, v/henever 
the " handiness" of hooks and the efficiency of 
" knocking about" is not recognised by some ex- 
ceptionally obtuse beast. 

Passing carefully along the narrow flagged 
•open passage, and peering in at window after win- 
dow at beasts and birds, each of which had a suc- 
cinct history and a precise commercial value, we 
arrive at a ladder leading to the monkey-loft. "We 
decline many tempting invitations before reach- 
ing it. Now it is the bill of a bird which is 
sharp as a razor, and warranted to take a man's 
linger " orf at a snap," which Mr. Norwood holds 
up for our handling and inspection ; now the 
muzzle of a grinning brute which is commended 
to our notice as "bein' the treach'ousest mouth 
and the, cunningest biter" of its species ; now the 
horns of some wild-deer which are to be accli- 



12 jameach's. 

matised hereafter. They are all " samples" or 
''parcels" to Mr. Norwood. No part of the world 
seems to he destitute of menageries ; and we hear 
of cases of live animals heing shipped to, as well 
as from, Mexico, Australia, and remoter spots. 
Africa is a mere nursery for Jamrach. His " tra- 
vellers" make their regular "journeys" there, and 
are looked for hy the natives much as the York- 
shire farmer looks for the wool-stapler's agent at 
shearing- time. 

"It is the Yankees" — we learn from Mr. Jam- 
rach junior, who returns from the Eegent's-park 
and joins us in the monkey -loft at this time — 
" that have run up the price of elephants so much. 
Formerly one could huy two or three of them for 
what one fetches now ; and it is mostly because 
of Barnum and the rest of 'em, who have in- 
creased the demand." 

At this juncture we feel a gentle nibble at our 
heels ; and with a bound across the loft which 
would have done credit to a circus-ring, Ave are 
literally at the feet of a lively family of kangaroos, 
wdio promptly jump heavily to and fro, in their 
turn, as if in emulation. To feel a cold nose and 
a sharp set of teeth against your flesh was, in 
such a locality, not a little startling ; and even 
when we saw that it was only a mild and harm- 
less rabbit which had given us our fright, there 



jamrach's. 13 

was something repugnant to our sense of fitness 
in any quadruped being at large at Jamracli's. 

" We sold our largest boa-constrictor last 
week," Mr. Norwood explains, '' and this is one 
of the rabbits left over. He just runs about and 
picks up what he can, and will come in for the 
little batch of snakes we expect to-morrow. Don't 
go too near that monkey-cage, please ; he's got 
a long arm has that old ape in the corner, and 
if he can get near enough is sure to do you some 
mischief. Yes, we generally keep a good lot of 
monkeys in stock. They're often wanted, you 
see, for public gardens ; and many private gentle- 
men even like to have a monkey or two about ; 
so that there's always a demand, as you may say. 
With rare animals, we generally give the Gardens 
[the Zoological] the first offer, and the Jar din 
'cles Plantes, in Paris, the next ; but monkeys — 
except, of course, some kinds — are more for small 
shows and the places I've named. Nothing beats 
a monkey for paying. I've known an organ-man 
make his seven and eight shilling a-day with a 
monkey, when he's gone out, day after day, and 
not turned in more than a couple of shillings 
without it. You see children all like to look at 
monkeys. They're always cheerful and brisk, 
and are sure to cause some fun if they're played 
with. They're safe, too, and they're cheap. Let 



14 JAMRACII'S. 

alone tlie cost, liowever, you couldn't take a lij^ena 
or a jagger [jaguar] out on a tambourine, or send 
a lion or tiger round with the hat. A monkey, 
though, never comes wrong. He just grins and 
chatters, cracks nuts and picks up halfpence, and 
amuses without frightening the children. Kan- 
garoos don't tame much in this country. I've 
heard of the bushrangers haying 'em running 
about their huts, but I don't know any case here. 
One thing is, people in the show business wouldn't 
take any trouble over a kangaroo. Nobody would 
give a sixpence to see one of them things jump 
through hoops, or over a whip ; and as to the per- 
former, he might hang live kangaroos round his 
neck, like sausages on the turkey at Christmas 
time, and not draw so much as a servant gal to see 
him. It's excitement and bounce, you see, sir, wot 
the public likes ; and a good poster, where a big 
Bengal tiger, or a lion or two, is capering about in 
a kind of ornamental den, with me or some other 
lion-king smiling in the middle of 'em, is a safe 
houseful, go where you will. The religious people 
send the Sunday-schools, and tell 'em all about 
the Prophet Daniel ; and the fathers and mothers 
bring the children, to teach 'em the ways of 
animals — natural history, they call it ; and men 
and women come because the performance is ex- 
citing ; and so the shows fill, and more and more 



jameach's. 15 

beasts is wantecT from all parts of the world. 
Those kangaroos, you see, had a litter a few 
weeks ago, and they'll be divided and sent away 
to the customers who've ordered 'em, early next 
week. How do we manage to know when there's 
anything in the beast line on board a ship coming 
home ? Why, there ain't a leading seaport in 
England at which we ain't got some one stationed 
to let us know when there's anything likely been 
seen or heard of. Yes, they're all his agents in 
a way — that is, they're in Mr. Jamrach's employ 
for the time ; but I fancy it's mostly done in this 
way. All the people whose business it is to board 
the ships directly they arrive know that early in- 
formation as to anything in our way being aboard 
will be well paid for. This makes 'em allers on the 
'op, as you may say, and I don't suppose there's 
ten head of show-beasts or birds comes into the 
country in a year that Mr. Jamrach don't know the 
pedigree of, and either make a bid for, or pass 
by. The sailors is getting pretty artful too, and 
don't — a good many of 'em, at least — want much 
agenting to find their way here, and to ask a good 
stiff price if they've anything good. Sometimes 
it's the captin or the chief mate that has brought 
over a beast, as a pet perhaps at first, when it 
was young and frolicsome, but who wants to get 
rid of an awkward customer by the time he touches 



16 jamrach's. 

land. These are the best worth looking after, 
for they're nearly always in better condition than 
any the sailors own. You see a monkey, or a 
young bear, or a tiger - cub, is a good deal in 
the way if you're not used to 'em, and you're liv- 
ing and sleeping in the same place, as you must 
on board ship. Whenever the grub's stolen or 
the clothes are torn, or anything goes wrong, it's 
always ' that (adjective) monkey,' or ' that (blank) 
bear,' and then out comes the rope's end, or the 
first bit of iron that is handy, and as a matter of 
course the beast catches it. Sometimes, if he is 
getting big, and is of a strongish kind, he goes in 
and bests the sailor, mauling him, and then they 
all join to wop him, and he catches it hotter and 
heavier than ever. Well, you see, sir, all this 
don't improve a hanimal's condition, let alone the 
chance of broken limbs and scars. Now, when 
the captin or the mate has a fancy that way, 
there's less chance of the beast being wilfully 
hurt. If he's very troublesome he may get a sly 
poke now and then behind their backs, but he'll 
be well treated the best part of his time, and 
lands here plumper and fresher as a matter of 
course. That beast Dick is a case in point. That 
eye you seemed so shocked at were miles worse 
when he came to us, — all bleeding and bare, you 
know, as if it had been knocked out the day be- 



jamrach's. 17 

fore ; and the lump on liis lieacl, wliicli looks like 
a mushroom, were as big as a cauliflower then. 
Being a nasty spiteful beast, he came off worse 
than ordinary, but there's a good deal of rough 
work on board ship both for men and beasts." 

A small kangaroo, the lower half of which was 
paralysed, and which Mr. Norwood lifted stiff and 
rigid from its blankets ; parrots, mocking-birds, 
cockatoos, Chinese and Hindoo idols ; sheep of 
extra wooliness for acclimatisation ; huge and fan- 
tastic chests and jars, and a strange medley of 
" curiosities," were next seen. But the crowning 
feature of the exhibition, the animal reserved as 
a bonne houche for our inspection, and the shrine 
of which was only gained after several anterooms 
had been passed through, was a diminutive pony, 
the fellow to which had been purchased by the 
great prize-fighter, James Mace. The little creature 
shown us had a reflected honour from this glorious 
circumstance. '^ Own brother to the one Jem 
Mace drives, which you may have seen 'im, in a 
fur cap and a coat with a good deal of handsome 
trimmings over the chest," was given out, much 
as I have heard the pedigree and performances 
of celebrated racehorses detailed by John Scott, 
the great " Wizard of the North." Mr. Mace had 
not then been ignominiously captured and brought 
handcuffed by policemen into the presence of law 

c 



18 jamrach's. 

and justice ; and our guide spoke of liirn as of 
some grand wild-beast, whose tricks and training 
made liim a deserved favourite with the public. 

Subsequently, we have Japanese fireworks let 
off for our delectation ; hear the latest quotations 
from the Hindoo idol-market, and more- strange 
anecdotes of animal life than would be useful to 
quote; bid our amusing little entertainer farewell; 
and are slowly wending our way westward, when 
at that portion of Eatcliffe Highway where the 
masts from the adjacent docks seem to spring 
incontinently from back-yards of taverns and the 
windoY\^s of marine -store shops, we are again 
stopped by the familiar showman-voice. Breath- 
less with anxiety and haste, its owner can just 
pant out, as a parting legacy : " Then you won't 
forget the name, sir — Norwood it is, you know; 
keeper, performer, and describer ; and if you could 
just manage to introduce it in a riddle, as to why 
Jamrach's head man is like a London suburb, it 
would take with the public ! I know it would, 
for I'm very well known ; and as you and me is 
in the same line, as yer may say — performin' 
and describin' — why shouldn't we do one another 
good?" And v/e here attempt to do that good 
accordingly. 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATINa. 

Nine o'clock on a Saturday evening, the place 
Cornhill, and the want a policeman. Wonderfully 
■empty and still are the City haunts we have passed. 
Curiously quiet, too, is the vast thoroughfare we 
are in. Shops and warehouses, banks and offices, 
are closed ; and though here and there a blaze of 
light tells you how to telegraph to India, or glim- 
mers out of one of the upper windows of the 
closely-shuttered houses you pass, the great street 
is wonderfully free from the feverish traffic of the 
day. Lazarus starts up out of the shadows which 
fantastically combine together on the pavement 
under the illuminated clock to the left, and having 
yielded to his prayer for pence, you and I look 
out anxiously for a policeman to aid us in tracing 
him home. Perhaps we carry with us a mysteri- 
ous talisman which will at once enlist the sympa- 
thies and insure the cooperation of the force ; per- 
haps we rely on our powers of personal persuasion; 
perhaps we have justice on our side, and claim its 
officers as allies ; perhaps we wish to test the 



20 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATIXG. 

truthfulness of the pitiful story he has told us ; 
or perhaps we are merely animated by a holy 
hatred of beggars, and a wish to prosecute Lazarus 
to the death. 

Let us look at him again. Shabby canvas 
trousers, a loose and ragged blue jacket, high 
cheek-bones, small sunken eyes, a bare shaven 
face, and an untidy pigtail — such is Lazarus. He 
is one of the poor and wretched Chinamen who 
shiver and cower and whine at our street-corners, 
and are mean and dirty, squalid and contemptible, 
even beyond beggars generall}'. See how he slinks 
and shambles along; and note the astonishment 
of the policeman we meet at last, when we tell 
him we wish to follow the abject wretch home. 
We have gone through Cornhill and Leadenhall- 
street, past the corner where a waterman is potter- 
ing about with a lantern — a modern Diogenes, 
who is j)erhaps looking for an honest man — and 
are close by Aldgate pump, and in the full glare 
of the huge clothing establishment at the Minories 
corner, before we come upon our policeman. New- 
court, Palmer's Folly, Bluegate - fields — that is 
where the Chinese opium-smoking house is, and 
that is where Lazarus is bound for. 

" I know them Chinamen well," adds Mr. Po- 
liceman sententiously ; '^they'll beg, and duff, 
and dodge about the West-end — we won't have 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 21 

'em here — and never spend notliin' of what they 
makes till night. They don't care for no drink, 
.and seem to live without eating, so far as I know. 
It's their opium at night they likes ; and you'll 
find half-a-dozen on 'em in one hed at Yahee's, 
a-smoking and sleeping away like so many lime- 
kilns and dormice ! No, sir, it w^ouldn't be at all 
safe for you to venture up New-court alone. It 
ain't the Chinamen, nor the Lascars, nor yet the 
Bengalees as would hurt you ; but there is an 
uncommon rough crew of English hangin' in and 
about there, and it would be better for you to 
have a constable with you, much better; and if 
you go to Leman-street, the inspector will put 
you in the way." This was all the information 
we needed from the policeman. 

Lazarus has shambled out of sight during our 
colloquy, and so, hastily following him down 
Butcher-row, Whitechapel, and resisting the fasci- 
nating blandishments of its butchers, who press 
upon us ''prime and nobby jintes for to-morrer's 
dinner at nine-a-half, and no bone to speak of," 
reach Leman-street and its police-station in due 
course. A poster outside one of the butcher's 
shops causes annoyance and regret, for it an- 
nounces a forthcoming meeting at which the diffi- 
culties besetting the trade are to be discussed in 
solemn conclave at Butchers' Hall, and inspires 



22 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

one with an abortive desire to assist in the delibera- 
tions. To hear the rinderpest spoken of by the 
astute professors who have made money by it, and 
to learn the causes assigned by salesmen for the- 
present price of meat, would be both instructive 
and profitable; but, alas, some parochial guardians, 
with whom we are at issue on the propriety of 
stifling and otherwise maltreating paupers, meet 
on the same evening, and for their sake the 
butchers must be given up with a sigh. 

Pushing through the small crowd outside the- 
station, crossing a long flagged court, and ascend- 
ing a few steps to the right, we present our cre- 
dentials to the inspector on duty. A one-eyed 
gentleman is in the dock, and oscillates up and 
down on the iron railing round it like an inane 
puppet whose wires are broken. He is an Irish- 
man, whose impulsive nature has led him to 
savagely bite and scratch the landlord of a public - 
house near, for having dared to pronounce him 
drunk, and for refusing him a further supply of 
stimulants. The landlord prefers the charge, and 
shows a bleeding forefinger, from which the nail 
has been torn. Irishman protests that he is a 
poor workin' man, who doesn't like to be insulted ; 
tipsy friends of Irishman noisily proffer themselves 
as witnesses to his general virtue and the extreme- 
meekness of his disposition ; and then retire,, 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 25 

grumbling; at "ten o'clock on Monday, before 
the magistrate, will be tlie time for all that," 
being the answer given. Inspector, methodically 
and with much neatness, enters name and address 
of both the biter and the bit, and a few other 
details, in the charge-sheet, and the man is re- 
moved. The landlord binds up his bleeding hand, 
and the next business, a shrieking lady with dis- 
hevelled hair, is proceeded with. 

Bluegate-fields is not in this police district, 
but the inspector will send a constable with me to 
a station which is only five minutes' walk from 
the place we want. Arriving here, the wail of a 
feeble fatuous old booby, who has been in im- 
proper company, and is now crying over the loss 
of his purse, is the first thing we hear. '' Yes, sir ; 
a bo'sun is right, sir ; and I only left my ship to- 
night. Seven pound thirteen, and a silver medal. 
Lord, Lord ! Felt it in my pocket five 
minutes before I left the house. Has a constable 
gone ? Deary, deary me ! — seven pound, too, and 
me only left my ship this blessed night !" 

This, with a profusion of tears, and much 
maudlin affection for the officers of the law. A 
few minutes' delay, during which booby is grufily 
and fruitlessly recommended to " give up blather- 
ing, as that won't give him his money back," and 
told what he ought to expect goin' along with such 



24 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

cattle as tliat ; tlien a slight bustle at the dcor, 
and a hideous uegress is brought in. From the 
window of the inspector's little room we look down 
upon the dock, see t]ie sergeant beyond, who, pen 
in hand, is entering particulars in his charge- 
sheet, while the ridiculous old prosecutor on the 
one hand, and the vile and obscene bird of prey 
on the other, mouth and gibber at each other, and 
bandy compliments of the fullest flavour. 

" One of the worst characters about here; used 
to be always up for robbing sailors and that, but 
has been much better lately, and hasn't been here, 
0, not for more than a month." The hideous 
creature of whom this is said now adds her 
''blather" to that of the old man, and her pro- 
testations are the noisier of the two. Strange to 
say, these protestations are for once well founded ; 
for at a sign from the inspector the sergeant again 
cross-examines the fleeced boatswain as to where 
he felt his purse last, and the possibility of its 
being on his person still. In the midst of solemnly 
incoherent asservations that the negress has it, 
the sergeant's hand falls carelessly into the boat- 
swain's inside coat -pocket, and lo, the missing 
purse is held up aloft between the sergeant's fore- 
finger and thumb. Its contents are counted and 
found right; the negress declaiming vehemently 
against "the old wretch," and, with a shrewd eye 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. ZO 

to future difficulties, declaring, " It's always so 
with pore me ; people is always swearin' agin me, 
and accusin' of me wrongfully." The old man 
looks more foolish than ever ; and we, with an in- 
spector, start on our mission, leaving the sergeant 
and constables in the midst of warnings and ad- 
monitions. 

The time spent at the two stations has not 
been lost, for it is now only half-past ten, and the 
opium revels are seldom at their height before 
eleven. There is no limit to the variety of na- 
tionalities patronising the wretched hovel we are 
about to visit. From every quarter of the globe, 
and more immediately from every district in Lon- 
don, men come to old Yahee : the sole bond be- 
tween them being a love of opium and a partiality 
for Yahee' s brand. Sailors, stewards, shopmen, 
mountebanks, beggars, outcasts, and thieves meet 
on perfect equality in New-court, and there smoke 
themselves into dreamy stupefaction. 

There is a little colony of Orientals in the 
centre of Bluegate-fields, and in the centre of 
this colony is the opium divan. We reach it by 
a narrow passage leading up a narrow court, and 
easily gain admission on presenting ourselves at 
its door. Yahee is of great age, is never free from 
the influence of opium, but sings, tells stories, 
eats, drinks, cooks, and quarrels, and goes through 



26 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

the routine of liis simple life, without ever rousing 
from the semi-comatose state you see him in now. 
The curious dry hurning odour, vvdiich is making 
your eyelids quiver painfully, which is giving your 
temples the throbbing which so often predicates 
a severe headache, and which is tickling your 
gullet as if with a feather and fine dust, is from 
opium. Its fumes are curling overhead, the air 
is laden with them, and the bed-clothes and the 
rags hanging on the string above are all steeped 
through and through with the fascinating drug. 
The livid, cadaverous, corpse-like visage of Yahee, 
the wild excited glare of the young Lascar who 
opens the door, the stolid sheep-like ruminations 
of Lazarus and the other Chinamen coiled to- 
gether on the floor, the incoherent anecdotes of 
the Bengalee squatted on the bed, the fiery ges- 
ticulations of the mulatto and the Manilla-man 
who are in conversation by the fire, the semi- 
idiotic jabber of the negroes huddled up behind 
Yahee, are all due to the same fumes. 

As soon as we are sufficiently acclimatised to 
peer through the smoke, and after the bearded 
Oriental, who makes faces, and passes jibes at and 
for the company, has lighted a small candle in 
our honour, we see a sorry little apartment, which 
is almost filled by the French bedstead, on which 
half-a-dozen coloured men are coiled long-wise 



LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 27 

across its breadth, and in the centre of which is a 
common japan tray and opium lamp. Turn which 
way you will, you see or touch opium smokers. 
The cramped little chamber is one large opium- 
pipe, and inhaling its atmosphere partially brings 
you under the drug's influence. Swarthy sombre 
faces loom out of dark corners, until the whole 
place seems alive with humanity ; and turning to 
your guides you ask, with strange puzzlement, 
who Yahee's customers are, where they live, and 
how they obtain the wherewithal for the expensive 
luxury of opium-smoking. But Booboo on the 
bed there is too quick for you, and, starting up, 
shouts out, with a volubility which is astounding 
considering his half-dead condition a fevv^ seconds 
before, full particulars concerning himself, his 
past, his future, and the grievance he unjustly 
labours under now. First, though, of the drug 
he smokes. 

"You see, sar, this much opium, dam him, 
smoke two minutes, sar — no more. Him cost 
four pennies — him dam dear, but him dam good. 
No get opium at de Home, sar" (the Home for 
Asiatics); ''so come to Yahee for small drunk, den 
go again to Home and sleep him, sar. Yes, me 
live at de Home, sar — me ship's steward — Ben- 
galee — no get opium good as dis, except to Yahee, 
sar. Four pennies, you und' stand, make smoke 



28 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

two minutes, no more ; but liim make better 
drunk as tree, four, five glasses rum — you Ingie- 
see like rum drunk, me Bengalee like opium 
drunk, you und'stand — try him, sar; he much 
good." 

Thus Booboo, who is a well-dressed Asiatic, 
in a clean shirt, and with a watch-chain of great 
strength and massiveness. He has been without 
a ship for five months ; has just engaged to go 
on board one on Monday ; shows me the owner's 
note for four pounds, and complains bitterly that 
they won't change it at the Home, or give him 
up his box. "Me owe them very leetle, sar, very 
small piece ; me there five months, and pay long 
time, and now they say, you give us money, and 
we no give you change." Booboo looks a little 
dangerous as he brandishes his opium-pipe ; and 
old Yahee, who is lying on his back, with his eyes 
closed and his mouth open, growls out an inco- 
herent warning to be calm. 

Mother Abdallah, who has just looked in from 
next door, interprets for us, and we exchange com- 
pliments and condolences with Booboo. Mother 
Abdallah is a London lady, who, from long asso- 
ciation with Orientals, has mastered their habits 
and acquired their tongue. Cheeny (China) Emma 
and Lascar Sal, her neighbours, are both from 
home this evening, but Mother Abdallah does the 



LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 29 

honours for her male friends with much grace and 
propriety — a pallid wrinkled woman of fort}', who 
prepares and sells opium in another of the two- 
roomed hovels in the court : she confesses to 
smoking it too for company's sake, or if a friend 
asks her to, as yer may say, and stoutly main- 
tains the healthiness of the habit. 

''Vy, look at this 'ere court when the fever 
was so bad. Who 'ad it ? Not them as took 
opium ; not one of 'em, which well you knows, 
Mr. Cox," turning to the handsome bluff sergeant 
of police, who has joined the inspector and the 
narrator ; ' ' but every one else, and look at the old 
gen'elman there ; vy, he's more nor eighty year 
old, and 'ardly ever goes to sleep, bless yer, he 
don't, indeed: he sings and tells stories the whole 
blessed night through, and is wonderful 'ealthy 
and clean. There ain't a cleaner old man than 
Mr. Yahee, not in Bluegate-fields, and if you 
could see him in the morning a-scrubbin' and 
washin' his 'ouse out, and a-rinsing his clothes, 
it 'ad do your 'art good. Does everythin' for liis- 
self, buys his own bits o' fish, and rice, and veget- 
ables, and cooks and prepares them in the way 
they like it, don't he. Chin Chin ?" 

Chin Chin is a Chinaman, whose face is well 
known at the West-end, and who lives by selling 
tracts and song-books in the streets. He boards 



30 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

with Yaliee, and pays one shilling a-clay. Chin 
Chin proves more sardonic than communicative, 
and Mrs. Abdallah resumes : 

" The old gen'elman has lived here these 
twenty year, and has looked just the same, and 
allers done what he's a-doin' of now, made up the 
opium as they like it, and had a few of 'em lodg- 
ing with 'im. I don't pretend to make it as well 
as he does, but I've lived here these dozen year, 
and naturally have got into many of their ways. 
He ain't asleep, bless ye, sir ; he'll lay like that 
for hours. Look ! he's wakin' up now to light 
his pipe agin, and then when it's later he'll begin 
to sing, and '11 keep on singing right through the 
night. That there young Bengalee, asleep in the 
corner, is another of his lodgers ; he's a ship's 
cook, he is, only he can't get a ship. They treat 
^em shameful, just because they're darkies, that 
they do, only allowing 'em a pound a month, and 
sometimes ten shillins, and they have to find 
they're o\vn 'bacca out o' that. These men come 
from all parts o' London to smoke Yahee's opium. 
Some on 'em sweep crossins ; some has situations 
in tea-shops ; some hawks ; some cadges ; some 
begs ; some is well off, some is ill off ; but they 
all likes opium, and they all knows there's no 
opium like Yahee's. No ; there ain't no differ- 
ence in the quality; but you can't smoke it as 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 31 

you buy it, you see, and Yaliee has liis own way 
o' preparin' it, which he won't tell nobody. That 
tumbler with the light in the middle has the 
opium, and that thick stuff like treacle is it. 
They just take it up with a pin this way, and 
roll it round and round, you see, and then when 
it's like a little pea, so, they smoke away until 
it's done. Tell the gen'elman how much you 
sm_oke. Jack. They call 'im Chow Chee John 
Potter, sir, because he's been christened; but 
he's not right in his head, and his own country- 
people don't understand him." 

Chow Chee is of an affectionate disposition, 
and the effect of opium is to make him put both 
hands on the knee of one of our party, and, after 
advancing his smiling black face to within a few 
inches of his friend's nose, to wink solemnly, and 
to say he '' smoke as much as him get, some- 
times all day and all night, if Christians peoples 
good to Chow Chee." 

On a suggestion being made that the opium 
smoking should be supplemented by some other 
stimulant, gin was chosen by such of the com- 
pany as were not too stupefied to speak. Yahee, 
we should mention, never lifted his head after 
he had once silently welcomed our little party. 
Coiled up on the bed, in trousers and shirt, and 
with his shoeless feet tucked under him, he looked 



32 LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

like a singularly tougii trussed fowl, and only 
turned to the light at his side as his pipe was 
refilled. Save in answer to our questions, there 
was little talking. Chow Chee John Potter occa- 
sionally attempted original remarks, but they were, 
as a rule, failures, and were so branded by his friends. 
It was a sheer opium debauch ; not noisy, not tur- 
bulent, not quarrelsome, but fervent, all-engross- 
ing, and keenly enjoyable to those engaged in it. 

As the evening w^ore on, several fresh arrivals 
came in at the narrow door ; among others, two 
Malays, a Lascar, and the Chinaman many of us 
have seen performing the knife-trick for the de- 
lectation of the British public. This last worthy 
started back on seeing the police-sergeant, and in 
very vigorous English asked wdiat that particular 
reptile wanted here. In vain was it attempted 
to soothe him with the assurance that it w^as all 
riadit, and that he would come to no harm. In 
vain did Mrs. Abdallah and some other ladies, 
who had by this time joined her in the doorway, 
protest to the fastidious knife - thrower that we 
were ''on the square." It was all useless; and 
with a growl of baffled hate at the sergeant, and 
a malignant scowl at the rest of the party, he 
disappeared down the dark passage of the court, 
and was no more seen during our stay. We learnt 
subsequently that he had just come out of prison 



LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 33 

after a sojourn there of eighteen months, through 
the sergeant having convicted him of offences too 
hideous to describe. He was the only very black 
sheep we saw. The others are decent men in 
their way, whose principal weakness is devotion to 
opium, and who rarely give trouble to the police. 

Old Yahee himself has, as mother Abdallah 
stated, lived for more than twenty years in the 
same hovel, for which he pays three shillings a 
week rent ; and has spent the whole of that time 
in preparing opium for such smoking-parties as 
we see now, and in making provision for his 
boarders. Yahee is a consistent misogamist, and 
allows no woman to interfere in his domestic ar- 
rangements. The chopsticks and the plates for 
breakfast and supper are washed by himself ; his 
two rooms are cleaned and swept, and every meal 
is prepared in the same independent way. Such 
of his customers as desire other society than that 
of the choice spirits assembled to smoke, must 
seek it elsewhere than at Yahee's. He scorns to 
oifer adventitious attractions, and is content to 
rest his popularity on his favourite drug. We have 
now had the pleasure of visiting him four times, 
have invariably heard the same stories of his 
cleanliness and quietness, have always found him 
in a stupor, and his establishment steeped in 
opium -fumes. His sunken eyes, fallen cheeks, 

D 



34 LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

cadaverous parchment -like skin, and deathly white- 
ness, make him resemble a hideous and long-for- 
gotten mummy; while his immobility, and the 
serene indifference with which he smokes on, who- 
ever may be by, suggest a piece of mechanism, or 
a cataleptic trance. How he manages his little 
household, how he guards against imposition, 
how his receipts and disbursements are regulated, 
what check he has over the consumption of opium 
by his customers, are mysteries. 

Yet Mrs. Abdallah, the sergeant, the inspector, 
Booboo, Lazarus, and Chow Chin, are unanimous 
in saying that Yahee is a good manager, a shrewd 
dealer, and, in his way, a reputable host. To lie 
on your back and smoke opium with your eyes 
shut until after midnight, and then to commence 
fantastic anecdotes and still more fantastic songs, 
the offspring of your morbidly-excited brain ; to 
continue these songs and stories until morning, 
and to then go out marketing for bits of fish and 
rice, — seems a trying mode of life for an octo- 
genarian. Yet Yahee does this, and seems to 
thrive ; that is to say, he is not less like life than 
when we were first shocked at seeing him nearly 
three years ago. All the other opium-smokers here 
are young men ; but the wrinkles of their host, 
his sunken eyes, and falling under-jaw, make the 
great age he is credited with probable enough. 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 35 

Lazarus yonder is no longer the contemptible 
wretch he was when we threw him a penny on 
Cornhill two hours ago. His frame has expanded, 
his countenance has lightened, his mien has be- 
come bright and buoyant. "Who knows the rap- 
turous visions passing through his brain, or the 
blissfulness which prompts that half-expressed 
smile ? The smallest-feeted houris, the most 
appetising birds'-nests and stewed dogs, nay, the 
yellow mandarin's button itself, are Lazarus's 
now. What cares he for policemen, for the cuffs 
and kicks, the slurs and sneers, of the barbarians 
from whom he has to beg? Yahee's shabby 
stifling little room is his glory and delight. To 
it he looks forward through the long and dreary 
day; by its pleasures he is compensated for the 
pains and penalties of his weary life. Booboo, 
too, has already forgotten the grievance he re- 
counted half an hour ago, and with eyes raised 
to the ceiling, is in a rapturous half- trance. The 
visions this miserable little hole has seen — the 
sweet and solemn strains of music, the mighty 
feasts, the terrible dramas, the weird romances, 
the fierce love, the strange fantastic worship, 
the mad dreams, the gorgeous processions, the 
brilliant crowds, the mystic shadows, which have 
occupied it — would fill a volume. 

Mr. Inspector Koberts, a friend to whom we 



36 LAZAEUS, LOTUS-EATING. 

have been indebted for much interesting infor- 
mation, tells us that before meals the strange 
people lodging with Yahee are seen ' ' to kneel 
down, and, looking up to the ceiling, jabber some- 
thing to themselves" — a description which, we have 
no doubt, a Malay or Chinese policeman would 
have little difficulty in applying to the prayers of 
English or other barbarians. But the interest 
of the place is centred, not in the food or wor- 
ship, not in the variety of skins, and their range 
from drab and mahogany to ebon and jet, but in 
the strange unholy pleasures enjoyed in it, and 
the glimpse it gives you of barbaric life. 

Old Yahee is as exceptional an instance of 
opium eating and smoking being pursued with 
impunity, as any tremulous dotard who is seen 
tossing-off his dram, and it would be as ridiculous 
to quote the one as the other, as a fair example 
of the influence of a degrading habit. Booboo 
and the rest are full of grievances ; complain they 
cannot get ships, or shall never see father or mo- 
ther, brother or sister, again — a handsome young 
Malay was especially lachrymose on this last point 
— but the plain truth is, they are all such slaves 
to the drug of which Yahee is high priest, that 
w^hen they once fall out of the groove of labour 
to which they have been accustomed, recovery is 
impossible. Like the dreamer in Lord Lytton's 



LAZARUS, LOTUS-EATING. 37 

beautiful story, the day is less to tliem than the 
night ; their heaven may be purchased by the few 
pence they beg of passers-by; and those who re- 
member the experience of Coleridge and De Quincey 
when struggling to emancipate themselves from the 
service of the opium-demon, will not wonder at the 
utter self-abandonment of poor Lazarus and his 
tribe. Mother x^bdallah, Lascar Sal, Cheeny Emma, 
and the rest, are the only Englishwomen he has 
known ; and his existence is divided between a 
misery which is very real, and a happiness which 
is as fictitious and evanescent as that of the moth 
killing itself at the candle's flame. 

We saw Lazarus last cowering on the pavement 
near Westminster Bridge ; there is not a day in 
which he may not be found, dazed and dreary, 
ragged, wan, and wretched, in one or other of 
our West-end streets. He gave a ghastly smile 
when we reminded him of our evening at Yahee's ; 
and lifting up his lack-lustre eyes, and cringing 
more than ever, held out his tracts and mutely 
asked for alms. His manner made a suggestive 
contrast to the contemptuous air with which we 
had seen him wave the same bundle of sorry lite- 
rature at the opium-feast ; and in this contrast 
may be discerned the moral of Lazarus's life. 



EXTKAORDINAKY HOKSE -DEALING. 

Ever since we dined with the twenty-one philo- 
sophers who met in privacy to eat Horse system- 
atically and scientifically for the first time in 
England, we have been looking up facts and figures 
relating to its consumption. The made dishes 
on that occasion were exquisitely good. Since 
then, and with the sweet and pleasant flavour of 
horse-flesh lingering on our palate, we have won- 
dered how much of it we have eaten unconsciously 
in England and abroad. Those amiable Paris 
restaurant-keepers, who provide six courses and 
a pint of wine for a couple of francs, are they un- 
acquainted with the succulent merits of horse ? Is 
German sausage free from it ? Are polonies pure ? 
Can a la mode beef lay its hand upon its heart 
and say, Avaunt ! I know thee not ? That horse - 
meat is a common but unacknowledged article of 
food in England, just as it has been for the last 
fifteen years more or less common and acknow- 
ledged in Paris, Austria, Eussia, Prussia, Saxony, 
Belgium, Wiirtemberg, Denmark, and the Hanse 



EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 39 

Towns, is insisted upon by many inquirers. They 
say ^ it must be so, and ask, ''Where else do the 
horses go to ?" Our hippophagical friends assert 
it must be so. They say, "Where else do the 
horses go to?" Not all to the domestic dogs and 
cats, to the wild-beasts, or to the hounds. The 
number killed in London alone is, we are assured, 
more than can be accounted for in that way ; so 
we present our credentials at the great horse- 
slaughtering establishment at Belle Isle, King's- 
cross, with a suspicion that we are about to see 
how a portion of the food of London is supplied. 

In the course of one of the most curious in- 
vestigations it has been our fortune to pursue, we 
learn that an average of one hundred and seventy 
horses are killed every week here, and that their 
flesh is boiled and sold for cats' meat. Their feet 
are made into glue, the hoof part into Prussian 
blue; their fat into the oil used for greasing sacks 
and cart-harness ; their blood makes a dye for 
calico - printers ; their hides are converted into 
leather for the best "uppers;" their bones form 
excellent manure ; and their tails cover chairs and 
sofas. Now, as the flesh of a horse is said to 
weigh about three hundred pounds, the foregoing 
figures give about fifty-one thousand pounds' weight 
of meat to be disposed of every week by this es- 
tablishment alone. About eight horses a-week, 



40 EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 

or two thousand four hundred pounds, go to the 
Zoological Gardens, and a ton is sent out in each 
of the trade carts of the establishment, and sold 
to dealers. The residue is delivered on the pre- 
mises to cats'-meat vendors, who come from all 
parts of London to buy it. What these people 
are like, and how this branch of the business is 
conducted — that some of them drive prize trotting 
ponies to carry the cats' meat away, for which a 
hundred guineas have been refused — that fifteen 
thousand pounds is spoken of as the fortune of 
one of them — and that their calling is, as was re- 
marked to us, ''a brisk, ready-money trade, for 
which there ain't no credit, for who'd run tick 
for a ha'porth of cats'-meat?" are the chief facts 
we master concerning them at our first visit. 

We spend an afternoon at Belle Isle, and go 
through the slaughter-houses and yards, to find 
all scrupulously clean. A few well-picked skele- 
tons, the ribs and backbone of which look bleached 
and white, as they rest by the wall, are indeed the 
only trade symbols we see. There is nothing un- 
pleasant. From eighty to a hundred horses are 
waiting to be killed, but they are in a clean farm- 
yard, with abundant straw, and stand in long rows 
at the manger of a covered shed, where they are 
munching hay without a suspicion of their doom. 

It is on a subsequent evening that we are 



EXTKAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 41 

made thoroughly free of the place. We don't quite 
remember now what we expected beforehand, but 
we found as pleasant and snugly conyivial a little 
party as we have ever had the luck to spend an 
evening with. The horse- slaughtering chiefs are 
of a highly social turn, and express all sorts of 
warm-hearted regrets that we are compelled to 
keep to the business of the hour. If we will sup, 
we sha'n't have horse-meat, they promise us, but 
something comforting. It was a cold boisterous 
night, and Belle Isle is below King's-cross ter- 
minus, at a distance of about a mile. A comfort- 
less, dirty, dreary road, the one by which Dick 
Turpin galloped on Black Bess in his great ride 
to York. There are at first no shops, few wayfarers, 
little lighting. Then a monotonous blank wall and 
iron palisades on one side, shutting out the railway 
and the rows of potato warehouses ; irregular shops 
and buildings on the other, without symmetry, 
cleanliness, or, at this hour, signs of life. Huge 
chimneys, with tops in a blaze, peer at us out of the 
blank darkness behind the railway-wall, as if to 
say, "We're Gas — and shamefully have our share- 
holders been treated by Mr. Cardwell." Here 
and there are a stray dog and a solitary police- 
man, but a general sense of loneliness withal, 
which is oppressive. The raw fog lowers upon, 
and seems to close in, the road ; but we pound 



42 EXTRAORDINAEY HORSE-DEALING. 

away through the semi-darkness, with little to 
break the heavy sound of our cab-wheels as they 
crash through the mud, until, passing under a 
railway - bridge, we reach a small tavern and a 
smaller office adjacent. There is no direct con- 
nection between the two, but one of the little 
knot of loungers outside first eyes us interro- 
gatively, and then, with a wink and a silent jerk 
of the thumb over his left shoulder, precedes us 
into the counting-house. We step from darkness 
into light, from cold to warmth, and from dreari- 
ness to comfort. 

Pushing through an outer room, which is 
handsomely decorated with petrified malforma- 
tions, and weighty excrescences found in the 
bodies of departed steeds, decorated, too, with 
the skull of a donkey said to have been ridden 
by the Prince of Wales, and with spirited por- 
traits of celebrated trotters winning their great 
matches, and looking as if they liked it, and we 
are in a cosy back parlour in which sociality 
reigns supreme. A stout cheery yeoman-looking 
man, like a gentleman-farmer, grasps us warmly 
by the hand and bids us welcome. This is the 
managing partner of the horse- slaughtering firm, 
who has invited friends learned in the art to meet 
us. We form quite a convivial council on horse- 
killing. The great slaughterer, the ''Jack" whose 



EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 43 

name is familiar to every cabman and costermonger 
in London, is, we learn, no more. The gentlemen 
before us are his successors, and are incomparably 
the largest professional horse-slayers in the king- 
dom. 

''Do we ever find good and sound horses 
among those sent to be killed?" replied the stout 
gentleman to one of our questions. " There's not 
a doubt of it. Do we ever doctor them up and 
turn 'em out fresh and well? Never! It's forbidden 
by Act of Parliament. Every horse that comes in 
here must be killed within three days, and we're 
bound to supply 'em with proper food and atten- 
tion while they're with us. But even if we weren't 
bound it would be cheaper to feed them than to 
starve them, you know — that stands to reason — 
don't we sell the meat by the pound? We're 
obliged, too, to enter full particulars of each 
horse in a book kept for the purpose, and to have 
an inspector present at killing-time to see that 
all's square and proper. What obliges us ? The 
Act ; and I'd like you to understand the law of 
this business before we show you anything else. 

"Parliament has legislated on horse-slaughter- 
ing three different times — in 1786, in 1844, and in 
1849. Now, I'll just read you," pulling out a 
rather dirty pamphlet, which turned out to be 
the Acts stitched together, "some bits which will 



44 EXTRxiORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 

sliow you liow we're governed. * Whereas,' tlie 
first Act says, ' the practice of stealing horses, 
cows, and other cattle hath of late years increased 
to an alarming degree, and hath . hecn greatly 
facilitated hy certain persons of low condition, 
who keep houses or places for the purpose of 
slaughtering horses and other cattle : for remedy 
whereof be it enacted by the king's most excel- 
lent majesty . . .no person or persons shall 
keep or use an}^ house or place for the purpose 
of slaughtering any horse, mare, gelding, colt, 
filly, ass, or mule, which shall not he killed for 
hatcher's meat' " (we started at these words, for it 
seems as if George the Third's parliament had 
been endowed with prophecy), '" 'without first taking 
out a license for that purpose.' Then come regu- 
lations as to how we're to obtain our license, the 
times of slaughtering, the notice we have to give 
to the inspector (you'll see him presently), the 
accounts to be kept by the owners of slaughtering- 
houses, and the form of conviction for violating 
the Act. The inspector must have notice, mind 
you, whenever a horse or other animal is to be 
killed, is to ' take a full account and description' 
of each, is to look through our books, and has 
sixpence for every animal we kill. Our inspector's 
house is in our slaughter-yard, so that we make 
him responsible for the horses destroyed. 



I 



EXTEAOKDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 45 

''If the inspector, says this Act, 'has reason 
to believe' that any of the horses are in ' a sound 
and serviceable state,' or if he thinks they have 
been stolen or unlawfully come by, he is to pro- 
hibit the slaughtering for eight days, and to cause 
' an advertisement or advertisements to be inserted 
in the Daily Advertiser or some other public 
newspaper.' Persons slaughtering horses with- 
out a license are, the Act says, to be guilty of 
felony; and any one destroying the hides of the 
horses they slay ' by throwing them into lime- 
pits, or otherwise immersing in or rubbing the 
same with lime or other corrosive matter,' are 
guilty of a misdemeanour. That, you'll under- 
stand, was aimed at the horse-stealers. Lending 
a house, barn, or stable not duly licensed for 
slaughtering purposes is to be punished by a fine 
of not less than ten nor more than twenty pounds. 
Then comes a clause exempting the carriers who 
' shall kill any distempered or aged horse ;' and 
a passage enforcing some other fines winds up 
the bill, which remained unaltered for nearly sixty 
years. The next Act affecting this trade was passed 
in 1849, ' to amend the law for regulating places 
for slaughtering-houses,' and it inflicts penalties 
upon any one cruelly beating or ill-treating a horse 
about to be killed ; and makes the slaughter-house 
keeper's license annual. The justices in quarter- 



46 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 

sessions can cancel any man's licei^se on convict- 
ing him of yiolating the Act; and the duty of 
the inspector, and penalties for neglect on his 
part, and for obstruction on the part of others, 
are stringently put forward. 

" These two Acts govern horse-slaughtering 
now ; hut I keep the hill passed for the prevention 
of cruelty to animals here with them, because it 
relates to us too. It provides that all horses im- 
pounded for slaying shall be properly supplied with 
food ; and if kept for twelve hours without a suf- 
ficient quantity of ' fit and wholesome food and 
water,' the keeper of the slaughter-house is fined 
five pounds. It also provides ' that the hair from 
the neck of such horse' shall be cut off before 
slaughtering. No man can be a horse- slaughterer 
and a horse-dealer at the same time, and all head- 
boroughs, parish beadles, peace-ofiicers, special 
constables, and members of the Metropolitan or 
City of London police, as well as county con- 
stabulary, have the right of inspecting our places, 
if in their districts, almost when they like. 

" There, sir, I think you've got pretty well 
hold of the laws we're bound to obey. We con- 
duct our business strictly by them, and horses 
are sent here under all sorts of circumstances. 
Being worn out or diseased is the commonest 
reason, of course; but sometimes it's whim or 



EXTEAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 47 

fancy that sends 'em to us. A gentleman will 
die, perhaps, and leave instructions in his will 
that his favourite pony isn't to be let grow old 
to run the risk of being badly treated ; or a fine 
frisky animal has run away with a little girl or 
boy, and been the means of breaking an arm or a 
leg ; or some incurably vicious beast has been 
the death of a relative or friend : all these are 
reasons for having sound horses killed. We've 
nothing to do with anything of that sort here. 
A horse once in at that gate — excepting those 
we use in our own business — and he never goes 
out again except as cats' meat. We just pole- 
axe 'em, that's all. 

" Our foreman, Potler, is the cleverest man in 
Europe at that work, and we pay him the salary 
of three curates for knocking horses on the head. 
Not that he does it much himself, he goes out 
with the cart, and sells ; but he can do it, you 
know, better than any one living, and he's tho- 
roughly sober and trustworthy, and looks well 
after the men. He was here long before we were, 
and knows the whole business, root and branch. 
He's a good deal respected by gentlemen, and 
the people we deal with, too, and is a great swell. 
Why, bless your soul, sir, I've seen that man 
knock horses down with a hundred pounds' worth 
of diamonds on his fingers and about his neck ; 



48 EXTRAORDINAKY HORSE-DEALING. 

and lie's quite a character on tlie turf, makes up 
Lis little book on every big race, and manages 
to win money. I was only saying to liim the 
other day, after he'd killed and ' stripped ' his 
horse like a regular artist, as he is — for there's 
as much difference, mind you, between one man's 
touch and another's at horse-killing as at any- 
thing else — I was only saying to him, 'Why, 
there's many a gentleman who's been to Oxford 
and Cambridge, and with a first-rate Latin edu- 
cation, who doesn't do as well as you do. Potior, 
and couldn't earn your salary to save his life.' 
And he said very fairly that he'd been doing this 
one thing ever since he was a little child, and it 
was only natural he could do it better than any 
one else. 

"But I'll tell you what he can do, and then 
you may judge whether he isn't a wonder. He 
can turn a live horse into a clean-picked skeleton 
in five-and-twenty minutes — Greenwich time" — 
the last two words were added as clinchers settling 
the wonder qualification off-hand. "An hour is 
considered pretty quick work for any one but him; 
but he's such a clever workman, that a horse is 
dead, and skinned, and cut up, I give you my 
word, before you've done calculating when he's 
going to begin. He is in the yard outside now ; 
I told him to keep about to-night, as I'd got some 



EXTRAORDINAEY HOESE-DEALING. 49 

gentlemen coming ; and you've only to come into 
the yard to see as many horses killed as you like." 
The donkey's skull and the petrified diseases force 
themselves upon us stonily as we pass from the 
jolly sanctum to the office, and from the office to 
the yard; and the high - stepping animals still 
trotting on its walls seem to say, "We, too, were 
knocked on the head by the artistic Potler." 

A good-looking, muscular young fellow, with a 
heavy fair moustache and mutton-chop whiskers — 
a young man with a keen bright eye and a brisk 
manner, and who, in point of attire, looks as if 
he had stepped bodily out of some tailor's fashion- 
book — lifts his low-crowned hat courteously as we 
pass into the yard. A huge coin, like the top 
of a gold shaving-pot, dangles from his watch- 
chain, and precious stones glisten upon his cra- 
vat and wrists and hands. This is the expert. 
He stood between a string of living horses and 
a large heap of dead ones — a conqueror on his 
own battle-field. His little army of slaughterers, 
in white -canvas uniforms, were busily carving 
and cutting in the large slaughter-house to the 
left. Gracefully directing our attention to their 
doings, our new friend then proceeded to confirm 
what we had already heard. He is evidently 
proud of his professional achievements, though 
exercising a certain gentlemanly reserve when 

E 



50 EXTEAORDINAEY HOESE -DEALING. 

speaking of himself. " Twenty-five minutes from 
first to last is the quickest time a horse was ever 
killed and stripped in by mortal man, and there's 
no one can't do that but me," is his answer to our 
first question. " Stripping," we are reminded, 
means clearing every atom of flesh from the bone, 
disposing of it in boilers and elsewhere, and leav- 
ing the horse's skeleton clean and bare. 

' ' Let the gentleman see you settle a few 
yourself, Potler, and we'll reckon how long it 
takes you to do it," is the signal for four horses 
to be led in. Their halters are fastened to a beam 
above, and they stand side by side patiently wait- 
ing Mr. Potler's pleasure. That gentleman hands 
his blue-cloth reefing-jacket to one of his slaugh- 
terers in waiting, and stands in shirt-sleeves poising 
a poleaxe in front of his first victim. The at- 
tendants have covered its eyes and face with a 
piece of stiff oil-cloth, which delves in at the top 
of the forehead so as to make a bull's-eye. After 
a couple of feints, apparently to show his con- 
summate mastery over his weapon, the sharp end 
of the poleaxe descends with a mighty blow, and 
the horse falls — dead. There is no intermediate 
suffering. The animal rolls over upon its back 
simultaneously with the crashing sound of the 
pointed axe through its skull. A single quiver of 
the four legs as they fall heavily into position, 



EXTEAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 51 

and the assistant-slaughterers are peeling its hide 
off and cutting it up. There is absolutely no 
period of transition between life and death, and the 
entire operation is decent, decorous, and orderly. 

In far less time than it has occupied to write 
these words the next horse in rotation has been 
blindfolded and poleaxed in its turn — the same 
formal preliminaries, the feints and poisings, hav- 
ing been gone through. The four horses are 
killed off in less than three minutes from their be- 
ing led into the slaughter-house ; and as we turn 
away, we see the first animal stretched out on its 
back, its four hoofs tied to hooks in the ceiling, 
and three busy figures in canvas peeling it as 
methodically and naturally as if it were an orange. 

The building in which this scene takes place 
is perfectly clean, and Mr. Potior returns to us 
without a speck apparent upon his boots, or 
clothes, or hands. Stepping easily forward, and 
resting on the handle of his poleaxe as he talks, 
much as I've seen cricketers do after a long score, 
he again tells us, with dignified modesty, that he 
attributes his proud position, not so much to 
natural gifts, as to long and early practice, and 
to having given the whole of his mind to this one 
subject ever since he can remember. He leaves 
the " stripping" to his subordinates to-night, and 
contents himself with what we have seen. 



52 EXTEAOEDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 

A few days later, at the great liorse-dinner 
given at the Langham Hotel, we laughed heartily 
in our sleeve when we heard purists objecting to 
trifling matters of taste, which they said affected 
their appetites, without, we are bound to say, giving 
the least evidence of the fact. Their objections 
seemed sentimentally trivial to those who had 
spent hours in seeing horses slaughtered and cut 
up, and who were about to see their flesh sold 
w^holesale for cats' meat. One of these superfine 
gentlemen thought the veterinary surgeon's cer- 
tificate of the soundness of the animals we were 
about to eat was out of place in the drawing-room 
before dinner. Another declared the wooden efii- 
gies of dead horses, which grinned at us woodenly 
during the banquet, were in bad taste. A third 
would have it that "boiled withers," ''farci," and 
similar playfulnesses ought not to have been on 
the bill of fare ; and a fourth turned away from 
the photographic portraits, declaring that the sight 
of them made him ill. 

"Do you mean to tell me that this is really 
horse ?" said one old gentleman across the table, 
in a timorous whisper, but with a tremendous air 
of having discovered a mare's nest. " Horse bond 
fide, you know ; horse that's gone about, eh ?" 
(This definition was given as if it applied to a 
distinct species.) " You do ! God bless my soul ! 



EXTEAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 53 

what are we coming to ? Horse, eh ? yes, I'm 
tasting it. Not bad, I daresay." (Very patron- 
ising here.) "/don't like the idea, though. Mere 
fancy, perhaps ; but I don't. So I'll wait a little, 
and look at you." 

We never quite made out why this old gentle- 
man had come at all. Whether he was a peripa- 
tetic public diner, who dropped in at great hotels 
whenever he felt hungry, and sat down to charity 
or other banquets, if they chanced to be going on ; 
or whether he had been hoaxed by some friend, 
and had accepted an invitation without compre- 
hending its character, it was difficult to say. But 
he seemed to partake of everything ; and when 
his plate was nearly finished, to go through the 
old formula. " But is this horse, eh, now ? Is it 
indeed ? and you like it ? Well, I can't relish 
the idea myself; but I'll look at you." Never 
were the advantages of rapid eating better exem- 
plified. Here was by far the largest consumer of 
food within our range calmly chewing the cud of 
bitter fancies after each dish, and assuming all 
the time a moral supremacy over his neighbours 
which was unassailable. 

There were many people at the horse-dinner 
who shared this eating philosopher's peculiarity. 
There is, however, an unerring test as to whether 
a good dinner has been enjoyed ; and if any one 



54 EXTKAORDINAEY HORSE -DEALING. 

doubts the quantity consumed at this banquet, let 
him go to the manager of the Langham, and ask 
how much was put upon the table, and how much 
was left behind. To hear some men's talk, you 
might have fancied they had no appetite for horse; 
but to see the same men eat, you w^ould have 
concluded it to be their favourite daint}^ It was 
marvellous to note the discrepancies between pro- 
mise and performance. " I can't quite stand the 
notion of this," one genial spirit would remark, 
putting his finger on an item in the bill of fare. 
*' Don't think I shall be able to manage that," his 
brother would chime in. But lo, when the time 
came, both eat of both with remarkable persistence. 
Supposing horse-flesh to be unpalatable, the 
one hundred and fifty people at the Langham 
Hotel were exemplars of self-denial. Yet many 
proficients in the art of dining were there. The 
editor of the new Epicure's Year- Book TMhhQdi 
shoulders with a gallant officer whose gastronomic 
experiences and prowess are well known. The 
Pall Mall clubs might have sent up deputations ; 
so numerous were their members. Men from the 
great social centres of Toryism and Eadicalism, 
of the arts and sciences, of the universities, the 
army, the navy, and the civil service, of travelled 
thanes and of city commerce, were all fused in a 
common anxiety to know the taste of horse. Here 



EXTEAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 55 

was tlie brilliant historian of our greatest modern 
wars ; there, the celebrated painter who is follow- 
ing the steps of Wilkie : here, a physiologist 
whose fame is European ; there, a lawyer whose 
learning is a proverb : here, a popular author 
whose diminutive is in the mouth of every school- 
boy ; there, a man of science who has given lustre 
to an already well-known name. It was strictly a 
representative gathering, and had assembled on 
philosophic grounds. Out of the rank and file of 
the hundred and fifty diners were probably some 
in whom curiosity had been the ruling motive for 
attendance ; but the men we have instanced, who 
are only typical of many others, were doubtless 
animated by something higher. 

It is obvious, however, that the whole question 
of supply, the statistics of the horses employed, 
and of the horses destroyed while sound, must 
be sifted before the effect of making horse-flesh a 
common article of food can be decided on. And 
this is not so easy as might be thought. Even 
the figures given from the chair that night have 
been seriously impugned since ; and neither the 
revenue returns nor the Board of Trade Blue-book 
will supply the exact information hippophagists 
want. The meeting at the Langham simply con- 
vinced a hundred and fifty more or less influential 
people of what the writer and the twenty- one other 



56 EXTRAOEDINAEY HORSE-DEALING. 

diners at Francatelli's already knew. For tlie truth 
is, that the great horse-banquet differed so Httle 
from other good pubHc dinners, that no one pre- 
sent would have noticed anything unusual about 
soup, made dishes, or joints, had it not been for 
the peculiar circumstances under which we met. 

Let dinner-givers, whether experienced club-fre- 
quenters or young ladies just commencing house- 
keeping, picture to themselves guests who smell 
and taste each item, as if anxious to detect un- 
pleasantness. Let them imagine a scrutiny of 
every mouthful taken, which was almost hostile 
in its closeness, and let them say how many ban- 
quets would come out scathless from such ordeal. 
How many people can give a large dinner in 
which everything shall be faultless ? Are beef 
and mutton never tough ? Do gravies never belie 
their promise ? Is cooking invariably perfect ? 
Who asks or wants to know ordinarily whether 
every member of a mixed company thoroughly en- 
joys every atom of every helping he gets ? Yet 
this is the test the Langham dinner underwent. 
Men looked at each other curiously while eating, 
and each course ran the gauntlet of puns and 
satire. But the examination was in all cases 
close and searching ; and between the fire of blind 
enthusiasm on the one hand, and ice of hyper- 
criticism on the other, it was difficult for plain 



EXTEAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 57 

people to form a calm judgment on the matter be- 
fore them. The enthusiasts who, at a consider- 
able expenditure of time, labour, and money, had 
promoted this and the preceding dinner, could 
scarcely be impartial. Accordingly, when a re- 
spectable but rather dull gentleman insisted that 
horse-meat was superior to venison, and spoke 
disrespectfully of those established favourites, beef 
and mutton, his talk fell as flat as the prejudiced 
whisperings of the queer old consumer opposite. 

When the trumpet -blast sounded, and the 
mighty baron of horse came in on the shoulders 
of four cooks, a neighbour nudged us to say, of 
the imposing trumpeter in scarlet and gold, " Ex- 
militia man, sir ; not a beef-eater at all. Uniform 
hired at a Jew clothier's ; trumpet sent in from 
a music-shop. Very good get-up. Uncommonly 
like the real thing ; but his rendering of the 
' Koast Beef of Old England' savours too much 
of the strong beer of old England, doesn't it ? 
Hark! there's another of those liquid notes ! Will 
they march right round the room ? Is he to play 
before them all the way ? Well, I only hope 
there'll be no accident ; for if ever a beef-eater 
looked like a. city man-in-armour after a Lord 
Mayor's dinner, that's the one. Did you hear 
the bother they had with him just now ? Asked 
him to strike a gong in the intervals of trumpet- 



58 EXTKAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 

blowing, and he indignantly declined. Said, with 
a manly hiccup, that he was only ' 'ired' to play 
one instrument, and ' that he wouldn't be put 
upon for all the 'orses in Hengland !' There he 
goes again ; another false note. Well, well, so 
long as he doesn't assault the chairman, I sup- 
pose we must put up with it." 

There was something extremely funny in these 
criticisms, for the beef-eater was marching round 
all the time with solemn step and slow, and mighty 
if irregular fanfaronades were being blown. 

" You can have no idea," continued our com- 
municative friend, " of the difficulty the commit- 
tee and secretary had in making this dinner ^ go.' 
As for the latter, he's given up his time to it for 
months. His privacy has been invaded, his time 
absorbed, his home arrangements upset, and all 
because he's tried to beat down prejudice. When 
the controversy commenced in the newspapers as 
to the advisability of eating horse-flesh, this gen- 
tleman rashly offered to make up a party to try 
the experiment. From that moment his time 
and liberty — I'd almost said his peace of mind — 
were gone. Strangers wrote to him from distant 
parts of Britain, saying they'd be in town on the 
following Thursday, and would drop in at his 
private house and take a horse-cutlet, about two. 
Other prudent people asked whether he meant to 



EXTRAORDINAEY HOESE-DEALING. 59 

feed inquiring spirits gratuitously, or if lie pro- 
posed to charge so much a head. Pious mono- 
maniacs denounced him for attempting to intro- 
duce a food not recommended in Scripture, and 
insisted on the connection between horse -meat 
and infidelity; and commercially-minded strangers 
asked him familiarly how much he hoped to make 
out of his ' spec' An average of thirty letters 
a-day arrived on this subject alone ; and what with 
trips to Paris, interviews with horse-dealers and 
horse-slaughterers" (we smiled to ourselves here), 
*' statistical inquiries into the progress of horse- 
eating on the Continent, and meeting and exposing 
the arguments of friends and opponents at home, 
I can assure you that our honorary secretary has 
worked as hard at the introduction of the new 
meat as if it were his own private business. 
When he commenced operations, he found pre- 
judice besetting him at every step. The hotels 
closed their doors in his face with wonderful 
unanimity, directly they learned his errand. The 
butchers refused to kill the horse he had pro- 
cured, because ' if the hoofs or hide were seen 
coming out of their shops it would be their ruin ;' 
and nothing but the most persevering energy 
would have overcome the obstacles and trade-rules 
which stood in the way of inaugurating a horse- 
dinner in London." 



60 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 

This information came to us in fits and starts ; 
for the speaker, a stout and rather pompous per- 
sonage, with an enormous double chin, partook 
plentifully of the good cheer before us, and thought 
nothing of giving up in the middle of a sentence 
to eat, always beginning again at the precise point 
he left off at, with " As I w^as saying just now." 
Meanwhile the banquet progressed admirably. 
Some filets of horse (imagine the poor jokes on 
filly!), with a full-flavoured brown gravy, were 
especially delicious, and the slices of cold horse 
sausage tasted like a veritable product of Lyons. 
But we hold to our original opinion, that not one 
man in fifty of those present would have detected 
any difference in appearance, in tenderness, or in 
flavour, between the various preparations of horse 
and the ordinary dishes of a well-served dinner. 
A copious variety of wine w^as supplied, and long- 
before the chairman proposed the toast of the 
evening, the verdict of the company was won. 

Twenty-four hours later, and at midnight, we 
again present ourselves at the establishment at 
Belle Isle. It is in the full tide of work. Horses 
are being knocked down and cut up, and their flesh 
thrown into the huge boilers with infinite rapidity. 
At least six-and-thirty are wanted for to-morrow's 
supply; and, as business has been brisk during 



EXTEAOKDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 61 

the week, it had heen feared that there would 
not be enough in stock for the night's killing. 
But condemned horses have come in from all 
quarters within the last few hours, including 
eight which have dropped down dead in the 
streets. The yard and pound are full in con- 
sequence. We stumble against a cart containing 
a dead roan, '' formerly belonging to the Marquis 
of Brandyford;" and see, by the glare of the shed- 
lights, a bay waiting to be stripped in another 
cart on its threshold. Poleaxing, hacking, carv- 
ing, and boiling are going on inside, and continue 
through the night, and it is three o'clock on a 
dark and drizzling morning before the animals 
are all killed and stripped. In this time decayed 
hunters, worn-out hacks, cart-horses, ponies, 
" Cleveland bays," cab-horses, and chargers have 
all succumbed to the mighty arm of Potler and 
his myrmidons, and have been thrown into the 
caldrons and boiled down. 

By four o'clock the slaughter-house is washed 
down and made clean. The horse-meat is placed 
in great heaps upon the stones as fast as boiled ; 
and is very like the huge hunks of workhouse 
beef I have seen turned out of parochial coppers. 
Soon after half-past five a cart is backed into 
the shed, and is piled up with boiled horse-meat. 
This done, it is driven off in the darkness to the 



62 EXTEAOEDINARY HOESE -DEALING. 

branch establishment of the firm at Farringdon- 
street station. 

At six, Mr. Potler, as spruce as ever, but with 
a butcher's steel suspended from his waist, drives 
a lighter vehicle in, and, standing up in it, per- 
forms a remarkable feat of artificial memory. He 
is going round to between thirty and forty cus- 
tomers, all dealers in cats' meat, who have given 
him their orders on a preceding day. He has 
neither book nor note, but calls out their names 
and quantities with a precision that never seems 
to fail. ^' Three-quarter Twoshoes and six pen- 
n'orth !" "Arf a 'undred Biles and three pen- 
n'orth !" " Arf fourteen Limey and two penn'orth !" 
" 'Undred and a arf, 'undred and three-quarters 
Till and nine penn'orth !" went on in rapid suc- 
cession, until we made bold to ask Mr. Potler 
where his memorandum was, and how he knew 
the different quantities required. ''All in my 
'ed, sir" (tapping it with a sly laugh). '"Aven't 
got no books nor pencils, I 'aven't, and don't want 
to," was his reply, which is corroborated by the 
stout proprietor, who stands at the scales, watches 
the weighing, and enters all Mr. Potler's items 
methodically on a sort of trade- sheet he carries 
in his hand. 

The first number, such as the " 'undred and 
a arf," referred, it was interesting to learn, to 



EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 63 

the cats' meat of ordinary horse-flesli ; the " pen- 
n'orths" are ^' tripe," and divide the quantities of 
each customer in the cart. " Tripe" is for the 
dog and cat of jaded appetite, who cannot relish 
plain food. Mr. Potler has no check upon his 
memory. He drives round in a certain direction, 
calling at the same houses in regular rotation, 
and delivers the " meat" as ordered, without 
scales or weighing-machine, and purely hy eye 
and head. He rarely makes a mistake, and on 
his return at eleven o'clock will hring back from 
ten to twelve pounds sterling and an empty cart. 
Cash on delivery, is his motto, and the amount 
he hands in always tallies with the entries in the 
trade-sheet of his employer. 

This employer is himself a study. At our 
previous visit we saw him dispensing hospitality 
in a cosy back parlour behind his counting-house. 
He now wears a low-crowned white hat, a little 
on one side ; a large crimson shawl envelops his 
bulky neck, and hides his chin at will ; and a big 
cutaway coat with flapped pockets, and waistcoat 
to match, covers his capacious frame. He is up 
to his knees in cats' meat. That is, the quantity 
on the floor is piled so high, that when he is be- 
hind it at the scales he becomes what painters 
call a three-quarter length. He makes a decidedly 
sporting portrait. A jolly, burly, red-faced farmer 



64 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 

from the Yorkshire wolds ; a stage-coacliman of 
the old school, when stage-coachmen were some- 
times humorists and gentlemen ; a prosperous- 
churchwarden sort of man, who could fill the large 
corner pew of a country church admirably; a 
sharp-witted, free-handed trader, who'd give sove- 
reigns away out of generosity, and bargain keenly 
for sixpences in the way of business ; — any of 
these characters would fit our host's appearance. 
The history of his present calling is told us thus, 
with many a jolly laugh and shrewd twinkle of 
the eye, slapping his trousers-pocket meanwhile 
for emphasis, and proffering excellent cigars : 

''If any one had told me two years ago that 
I'd ever have been a cats'-meat man, I'd just have 
laughed them down. No more thought of it than 
you have at this moment, I give you my word. 
I'd done pretty well in my own business, and had 
retired. Got settled down in a pretty place in 
the suburbs, but used to ^Dop in and out the 
City for amusement like; putting a bit of money 
in here and there as a spec, and watching how 
it would turn out. I used to dine among my 
friends, very often, at a place I daresay you know, 
where there's a four-o'clock ordinary and a capital 
glass of punch. Well, sir, one afternoon, when 
three of us were chatting over our cigars, a man 
came in we all knew, and asked us if we were 



EXTRAORDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 65 

game to go in for a really good thing, though a 
funny one. We'd a rare laugh when we heard it 
was the horse-killing and cats'-meat trade. After 
a little talk, however, very little — for we'd all 
been accustomed to go into new things, and to 
have several irons in the fire — we agreed to try it 
together. The three of us paid the deposit-money 
next morning, and became the proud possessors 
of the largest horse-slaughtering business in the 
world. Then came the question, How was it to 
be worked ? Not one of us had the least notion 
of doing what you see me doing now. To drop 
in on a Saturday, and divide the profits, to have 
little partnership dinners, with our managers 
coming in to dessert, drawing in a good deal of 
money, and having very little to do — that was 
our game. But the first three months told us it 
wouldn't do. We lost money, instead of making 
it. The 'meat' went anyhow, as you may say. 
Pounds slipped away without being accounted for. 
We could blame no one in particular, because we 
didn't know where the fault lay. What we did 
know, and precious quick too, was that it wouldn't 
answer. So another partner and myself came to 
a friendly arrangement with the third — the gentle- 
man you saw here the other night — and agreed to 
become managers ourselves. Three days a-week 
I'm here, as you've seen me, from five in the 

F 



66 EXTEAOEDINAEY HOESE-DEALING. 

morning often until twelve at night, and the other 
three days my partner does the same. Having 
lived a good deal in America, where they say, ' if 
a man can't edit a newspaper, he can print it; and 
if he can't print it, he can sell it,' I always go in 
well when I go in at all ; so I know this business 
thoroughly. Where the meat goes to, what it 
fetches, and when its price is to rise, are all A B C 
to me now. I can knock horses on the head too, 
and could manage the concern if all the old ser- 
vants were to leave me to-morrow. What affects 
the price of cats' meat ? Why, the cost of horses, 
and the number of them. Sometimes they drop off 
like rotten sheep, at others the season's healthy, 
and the supply low. We buy 'em dead and alive, 
remember. We've standing contracts with many 
of the largest employers of horses to take their 
diseased and worn-out and dead ones at a fixed 
price all round." 

The acting partner here turned round, and 
with a brisk chaffy manner, which was a strong 
contrast to his philosophic air when speaking to 
lis, cried, " Hallo ! Jack, where' s the pony this 
morning?" 

" Out earning money for you, master, agin 
the summer," shouted a hoarse voice in reply. 

This was the first trade customer of the morn- 
ing. He had wheeled a neat little barrow into 



EXTEAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 67 

the shed, which was filled from the heaps of 
*'meat" still on the floor, and paid for with all 
speed. From this time, ahout half-past six, until 
half-past eight the flow of customers was strong 
and stead}^ The food was carried off in a variety 
of ways. Shahhy-genteel women hrought peram- 
bulators ; children, baskets and barrows ; men 
and boys, little carts. " Mind my doggie don't 
bite yer !" was shouted in the ear of one of our 
party, which made him jump away from a harm- 
less panel-fresco of a Newfoundland dog who was 
eating " royal cats' meat" with the air of an epi- 
cure. 

Most of the carts had pictorial panels. Some 
represented scenes in high life. The late Prince 
Consort, her Majesty, and the Koyal Children dis- 
pensing cats' meat from silver spoons to a litter 
of spaniels at their feet ; an archbishop, seated 
in his study, in lawn sleeves, tempting a poodle 
to sit up by the promise of cats' meat ; and an 
elderly lady of evidently high rank, for her coro- 
net stood on the breakfast-table at her side, like 
a coffee-pot, coaxing a monster tabby with milk 
and meat, were among the pictures on the cart- 
sides. The ponies drawing them were smart trot- 
ters, well groomed and cared for; but the most 
celebrated were not brought out because of the wet- 
ness of the morning. The owners were as artistic 



68 EXTRAORDINARY HORSE -DEALING. 

as their vehicles : some in long drab coats reach- 
ing to their heels ; some in strange jackets, in 
which one patch of colour had been so inter- 
twined with another that the original hue was 
lost ; some in nondescript garments, of which it 
was difficult to discern the beginning or end ; all 
wonderfully brisk, funny, and personal. One man 
takes away a bag of horse-tongues, which are so 
wonderfully like those we see in the windows of 
ham-and-beef shops that we avoid asking its des- 
tination ; others purchase horses' hearts, which 
we, at least, could not distinguish from those of 
bullocks; but the majority take the "meat" as 
it comes, pay for it, and go on their way. 

" It's a curious thing," said the stout pro- 
prietor, " that they're all so particular about 
having it boiled fresh. The Act of Parliament 
says horses are only to be slaughtered in certain 
hours ; but that part of it has become a dead let- 
ter, simply because cats prefer the taste of horse- 
flesh which has been newly killed. Custom, sir, 
has overridden law, as it often does, and all because 
the London tabbies are so dainty that they don't 
like horse that's been killed too long overnight." 

" Do the old favourite horses you told us of as 
being slaughtered to prevent their ever being ill- 
treated — do they get sold for cats' mea£ too?" 
we ask. 



EXTRAOEDINARY HORSE-DEALING. 69 

'' That's just as gentlemen like. They can 
have the body buried, and, if they prefer it, we'll 
send men to their own places to kill for them. 
If they come here, it can be made quite private. 
"We'd a baronet here with an old pet only yester- 
day. We always close these gates at such a time; 
for, hang me" (with much vigour) "if people don't 
seem to rise out of the pavement when anything's 
going on on the quiet. The great thing we guar- 
antee is that a horse shall be put out of the way 
painlessly, and in the presence of witnesses, if 
it's wished; and that he'll not be found, ill-treated 
in a cab perhaps, ten years after he's supposed to 
be killed, as I've known happen before now." 



FALSE HAIK. 

The statistics of the false-hair trade furnish curi- 
ous evidence concerning the increased and increas- 
ing artificiality of the age. Male wigs have gone 
out of fashion, and it is the enormous quantities 
of false hair used by ladies which have caused the 
vast rise in its price. This has gone up 400 per 
cent within the last dozen years, while four times 
as much false hair is used now as then. Sixteen 
times as much money is consequently spent upon 
this article of adornment in the present year as 
was devoted to it in 1857 — a suggestive fact for 
the swains who are admiring the silken tresses 
of their fair partners in the dance, or at a sea- 
side promenade. 

Those who only know false hair from the 
curious lumps of it in the hairdressers' windows, 
and from a general suspicion that they see it on 
the heads of some of their friends, cannot form a 
notion of the extent to which the trade in it is 
carried on. It has wholesale dealers with large 
warehouses, and skilled labourers constantly at 
work. It is manufactured to meet the wishes and 



FALSE HAIR. 71 

the purses of all classes of society, from tlie six- 
penny frisett sold to j&ll out tlie sparse locks of 
the servant-of-all-work, to the ten -guinea head of 
hair made up to aid the beauty of a duchess. To 
visit one of its great emporiums is to become a 
wiser, if not a sadder man. There may be seen 
samples of hair by the thousand, all of which 
have been cut from living heads for money, to be 
sold again. We were conducted over one of these 
emporiums recently, where huge canvas sacks, each 
weighing 150 lbs., and containing about six hun- 
dred heads of hair, were standing unpacked in one 
of the workshops. The contents of each sack gives 
out a close and fusty smell, suggesting some fur- 
rier's establishment where none but coarse and 
common furs are sold. The sacks stand on end, 
and are hard as well as bulky from tight pack- 
ing. They have crossed the Channel recently, 
their contents having been cut principally from 
French and German heads. 

One of them is cut open for our benefit, and 
a strange variety of matted, greasy, unpleasant-look- 
ing hair is seen. Here is the iron-gray of middle 
life, the snowy-white of old age, the brown and 
black and flaxen of youth, all roughly twisted 
up together like so many piebald horses' tails. 
Some of the hair is long, some short, some coarse, 
some fine, some neglected and dirty, some care- 



72 FALSE HAIR. 

fully combed and cleaned. There is a ready de- 
mand for all, and all will be submitted to some 
twenty distinct processes before it is offered for 
sale. Long massive tresses are taken out of the 
sack and spread on the table for our inspection. 
This is hair in its natural state as cut from the 
head, and we are begged to note the difference 
between it and the '' manufactured" hair as sold. 
The contrast is great. The latter has been combed 
and washed, and in many cases dyed. Each in- 
dividual hair has been passed through what looks 
like a fixed small-tooth comb, and has been coaxed 
and teased and tortured, until the mystery is that 
there should be any of it left. It is then sorted 
according to its colour, and sold to retail houses 
by the ounce. 

It was rather melancholy to find that gray or 
white hair is the most valuable of all ; and that 
false hair which is long as well as gray commands 
the highest price, from the number of old ladies 
wishing to counterfeit nature while preserving the 
insignia of years. The finest specimens of this 
elderly hair will sell for as much as two guineas 
an ounce ; while the very best black or brown 
is priced at from eighteen shillings to a guinea, 
and the best flaxen at about a guinea and a half. 
The latter variety is, be the quality what it may, 
about fifty per cent dearer than black or brown 



FALSE HAIE. 73 

liair ; while white or gray fetches more than the 
latter by one hundred per cent. 

It is unnecessary to say that much of the hair 
sold in this country is far less expensive than that 
just quoted. Quality, colour, and length determine 
its price, which ranges from a few shillings an 
ounce upwards. After the hair has been combed 
and washed and dried, it is folded into oblong 
parcels, such as large skeins of silk or worsted 
are kept in, in the shops. Fair Saxon hair is still 
greatly in demand, and as the stock of it must 
be kept up, many of the other colours have to be 
stained to the favourite hue. But dyeing hair is 
far less easy when it has been cut from the head. 
The natural perspiration of the human subject 
acts with the chemical compounds used; and it 
is the boast of the fashionable hairdresser that he 
can change your hair to any colour by a few appli- 
cations of his famous washes. Great certainty 
is moreover expressed as to the shade which will 
be produced, and dark brown, or flaxen, or black, 
can be prognosticated with as much certainty as 
if those colours were put on temporarily with a 
paint-brush. This, according to the hairdressers, 
is the reason why male wigs have gone out. 
"Where men used to shave the head and wear a 
wig when they were turning gray, they now dye 
their hair ; and where they are bald they grow a 



74 FALSE HAIR. 

beard, and, if necessary, dye it," was the explana- 
tion given us by an eminent professor of the art 
of hairdressing and dyeing. The artifice of the 
male sex differs therefore from that of the female 
not so much in degree as in mode ; for while the 
latter wear false hair, the former give false colour 
to their own. 

Formerly there was no medium in dyeing. 
The hair and whiskers of an elderly man were 
either a bluish black, or white, as he dyed, or let 
Nature have her way. The proceeding was so 
painfully obvious as scarcely to amount to de- 
ception, and the purgatorial way in which men had 
to sit, with their heads covered with lime-powder 
and cabbage -leaves until their colour changed 
from gray to black, added to the horrors of the 
situation. The liquid dyes, invented and improved 
during the present generation, act chemically on 
the hair without staining the skin, and are by 
comparison cleanly and convenient. Hence, ac- 
cording to the hairdressers, the enormous increase 
in dyed hair, and the reduction in the sale of wigs 
to men. 

The abnormal demand for light hair has put 
both the dealers and their fair customers to 
considerable inconvenience. The lady who had 
stained her hair to what she considered the fa- 
shionable colour had in many instances attained 



FALSE HAIR. 



75 



a tinge unlike any other thing on earth. When, 
therefore, she wanted a new chignon or tresses 
to match her latest hue, it was impossible to pro- 
cure them. No shade of flaxen but by the side 
of her own metallic yellow would seem dull 
and flat ; and the only way out of the diffi- 
culty was to artificially stain the false hair gold 
colour, until it looked as unnatural as the hair 
growing. But, as we have said, it is by no means 
easy to insure a given shade in hair once cut 
from the head ; and it often goes through twenty 
dyeings before the coveted colour is attained. 
Each time it is dipped in the dye it has to be 
dried, so that the process is not a little tedious. 
We saw from fifty to a hundred batches of light 
hair hung up on strings to dry, the majority of 
which would have to be dyed again. Through 
the window of the room in which these were, a 
long line of jetty-black ringlets might be seen 
swaying to and fro in the sun, and looking in 
their extreme glossiness and deep-set hue like 
so many black crows swinging from the string 
above. 

The foregoing are examples of what was seen 
on every side. The quantities of the hair around 
seemed endless. Drawers, chests, boxes, and 
packing-cases were full. None, we were assured, 
had been cut from corpses. There is a cer- 



76 FALSE HAIE. 

tain deaclness and liarshness wliicli an experi- 
enced hand recognises immediately in all hair 
not taken from a living subject. But the various 
circumstances under which it had been parted 
with, the poverty, the sickness, the sorrow, the 
ignorance, and the vice forcibly suggested them- 
selves as we turned over mass after mass of human 
hair, cleaned, sorted, and labelled for sale, for 
all the world as if it were so much fur. 

So nice an art is it to im^^rove the hair from 
the condition in which it arrives from the Con- 
tinent into that in which it is sold here by the 
ounce, that it is commonly said its practice can only 
be learnt when young. The man who attempted 
it for the first time would waste more than he 
cleaned. The loose hair would be combed out 
and lost, instead of put carefully in its place ; and 
"the profit," as we were feelingly told, "would 
be easily combed away too ; for no workman is 
worth his salt at the hair-business unless the 
fineness of his touch has been trained by con- 
stant practice since youth." 

So far we have but touched upon hair as 
it is sold without more manipulation than is 
necessary for its quality, delicacy, and colour. 
But the variety of ladies' head-dresses of hair 
which are sold ready-made is very great. Before 
us lies a large illustrated pattern-sheet, in which 



FALSE HAIR. 77 

every form of '"back-hair" worn by every lady we 
have ever seen seems to be parodied and sold at 
so much an inch. Its diagrams are facsimiles of 
what we saw during our visits to the wholesale 
hair-houses. There were the curly ringlets of the 
romp, the fancy plaits of the demure school-girl, 
the porter's knot, the sausage-roll, the snake, the 
caterpillar, the black-pudding, the parasol, the 
door-knocker, and the bird's-nest, all in hair. The 
only inscription given them on the sheet is of this 
prosaic character : " six inch wide, five inch 
deep," or '' frisett hard" or " frisett soft ;" but 
the diagrams tell their own story ; and these 
wondrous preparations strictly resemble what we 
have said. We find, moreover, from an intensely 
interesting publication called the Hairdressers' 
Chronicle, that societies flourish among us for the 
promotion of the art of hairdressing, and that 
the most distinguished professors of the day prac- 
tise together in the following beautifully sugges- 
tive way: "At a meeting of the Amalgamated 
Academy of Hairdressers, a variety of coiffures 
were tried, the antique and I'Etoile being warmly 
applauded," while the following report of the pro- 
ceedings of the " Societe du Progres de la Coiffure" 
speaks for itself : 

" This society held its usual monthly meeting 
on Tuesday, July 7, at its rooms, Charles-street, 



78 FALSE HAIR. 

GrosYenor- square, when the following talented 
artistes officiated : 

" Coiffure by M. Eossignot. — Execution : The 
hair flat on the forehead, to which was added a 
plait in three, about two inches from the forehead, 
the space between being filled with light curls. 
The hair of the temples was divided into two 
pieces, the one brought down and the other up, 
with several rolls across the head behind the 
plait. For the back, from ear to ear the hair was 
divided into five pieces, brought up about two 
inches, forming rolls, and a group of curls, droop- 
ing rather on the right side, completed this hand- 
some coiffure, which was chastely adorned with 
silver ornaments. 

*' Coiffure by M. Beaupin. — Execution : Wave 
the hair in front, and make an inversed puff, with 
the hair of the temples rolled up behind the ears. 
The back hair form into four rolls from the neck, 
not high, the centre being filled with five loops, 
forming a plait. A train of golden leaves passing 
between the loops, from the right side to the 
left, gave the finish to this graceful coiffure. 

" Coiffure by M. Camiletti. — Execution : Two 
rolls in front, forming a russe, the hair of the 
temples turned back, and two small rolls on the 
right and left side. For the back, five rolls, 
rather high, from ear to ear, and one under, form- 



FALSE HAIR. 79 

ing a semicircle. This coiffure was adorned with 
roses. 

" The next grand course will take place on 
August 4, when three head-dresses will be exe- 
cuted." 

We should mention that a considerable trade is 
carried on in false beards, moustaches, and whiskers. 
During the American war a vast number of these 
were sent out to the United States, and a steady 
demand continued until the peace. Our informant 
did not profess to account either for the sudden 
craving for whiskers and beards, or for its equally 
sudden cessation. But the fact is curious, that 
the demand lasted as long as the war, and gradu- 
ally dropped off at its close. The moustache and 
whisker, like the best wig-fronts and scalps, are 
based upon a fine network of white hair, through 
which the skin of the wearer shows ; and a " part- 
ing" is secured which fairly rivals nature. 

Our investigations were made among some of 
the largest wholesale dealers in human hair, as 
well as at several fashionable retail shops. Both 
abound in the metropolis. The penalty of such 
inquiries is, that they leave a hideous doubt upon 
the mind as to the reality of plaits, curls, chignons, 
and tresses. When art imitates nature so won- 
derfully, and where — as figures and professional 
witnesses prove to us — a large proportion of the 



80 FALSE HAIE. 

female population avail themselves of art, it be- 
comes exceedingly difficult to draw the line between 
the two. After seeing and handling hair taken 
from many thousands of heads, and being taught 
its future use, the belief is pardonable, if morbid, 
that false locks are as common as real ; and that 
whenever hair is especially beautiful, it should 
awaken most distrust. 



SUNDAY TRADING. 

The Sunday trading of the metropolis is too 
multifarious to be generalised in a heading of 
two words. It has its specialties and diversities, 
like other branches of commerce ; and the dif- 
ferent districts in which it flourishes have cha- 
racteristics which are as distinct as those of 
the shops in Regent - street and the stalls of 
Clare Market or Seven Dials. Some stress has 
been laid latterly upon the Sunday bird -fair at 
Spitalfields, an institution which has been de- 
scribed at intervals during the last thirty years, 
and the leading features of which remain unal- 
tered. But there are localities nearer the West- 
end which are at least as peculiar, and the weekly 
scenes in which are as startling as anything told 
of the noisy chaffering throng assembled every 
Sunday morning round the doors of St. Matthias, 
Bethnal-green. The New-cut Lambeth, Chapel- 
street near the Brill Somers-town, the railway 
arches in the St. Pancras-road, and Dudley-street 
and its tributaries in Seven Dials, were found on 

G 



82 SUNDAY TRADING. 

a Sunday morning, in diurch hours, in 1869, in 
the full tide of a busy roaring trade. 

The New-cut is a promenade as well as an 
open-air bazaar. It is nineteen years since Mr. 
Henry Mayhew described the scrambling and shout- 
ing taking place there to get the penny profit out 
of the poor man's Sunday dinner as overwhelming 
to the thoughtful mind, and the place is as 
puzzling and uproarious as when he wrote. Why 
so many men who are not particular about other 
portions of their attire should pay for having their 
boots blacked, and be assiduous as to the degree 
of polish conferred, is not the least incomprehen- 
sible of the many little problems which beset the 
inquirer. We counted seventeen shoeblacks busily 
occupied between Waterloo station and the West- 
minster-bridge-road on exploring the New-cut on 
the morning in question between eleven and twelve. 
The patrons of these boys were poorly dressed — 
some coatless, some ragged, all shabby, but uni- 
formly anxious for bright boots, and all willing 
to pay a penny for the luxury. This done, they 
stood at street -corners, or strolled slowly along 
the pavement or roadway, stopping here and there 
to listen to the wiles of an unusually noisy or 
amusing trader; but obviously out for a holiday 
walk, and for a weekly chat with their friends. 
These were the loungers, and they w^ere in the 



SUNDAY TRADING. 83 

majority among the crowds filling both footpath 
and roadway. Purchasers, with and without bas- 
kets, of both sexes, and people bargaining, eating, 
drinking, and in one or two instances gambling, 
made up the rest of the throng. 

The trades, stationary and peripatetic, were of 
all kinds. The refreshments taken on the spot and 
in the open air made a formidable item. Hot plum- 
cake, with a yellow groundwork of steaming sub- 
stance, half sponge, half flannel, and large black 
spots resembling petrified raisins, paid for and eaten 
as quickly as it could be cut up ; whelks, periwinkles, 
and another shell-fish picked out with pins and 
washed down by ginger-beer at a penny a bottle, 
each glass bearing an amount of froth which was 
alone worth the money ; pies all hot, taken from a 
tin case like a potato -can, and supplied with smok- 
ing gravy like train-oil, as fast as sold ; sausages 
fizzing and spluttering in the yellow river wherein 
they were fried ; grapes, at threepence a-pound, 
"from the Queen's greenhouses at Windsor Cas- 
tle;" walnuts sixteen a penny, "warranted the 
same as is eaten in Covent-garden Market by the 
nobility;" and biscuits, lollipops, and quack loz- 
enges, some of which had medical virtue as well as 
piquancy, and others which were piquant only, 
were among the delicacies consumed. 

The public-houses were of course closed, and 



84 SUNDAY TEADING. 

experimental efforts to obtain spirits or beer at 
the coffee-shops and eating-houses ended in igno- 
minious failure. The druggists' shops were open, 
and full of customers — worn people, for the 
most part, who brought their own bottles, and 
had some of the ''same doctor's stuff as before ;" 
but no one was drunk, though several confessed 
to thirst and to an agreeable foreshadowing of the 
time when "the clock strikes one, and them 'ere 
blessed shutters" (those of the public-house) " are 
down." Besides the vendors of articles eaten on 
the premises or in the street, the butchers, the 
greengrocers, the grocers proper, the bakers, and 
the fishmen, are all kept hard at work. Noise 
seems to be a condition of their business life ; and 
the ''Buy, buy, buy;" the "Carrots a penny a 
lot, a lot;" the "Prime tea soothe-yer-tea" (in 
one word) ; the "^lio wants fish?" "Fish now, fish 
now; what do you want?" recalling the "What 
do you lack?" of the old 'prentices, — are all 
effectual. 

Nor must it be supposed that the Sunday- 
morning trade is confined to the necessaries of 
life. Tailors' shops, decked out with garments of 
many colours and strange names ; jewellers, iron- 
mongers, boot -and -shoe dealers, bird-fanciers, 
stationers, haberdashers, and bonnet vendors, are 
all here. Finery for the person, and ornaments 



SUNDAY TRADING. 85 

for the house, necessaries and luxuries, are offered 
side by side, as if we were on a cheap Boulevard, or 
at a Palais Koyal innocent of beauty, attractive- 
ness, or taste ; indeed, if the motives and actions 
of the people we saw were analysed, the difference 
between them and the strollers in the French 
Vanity Fair would be, perhaps, found to be more 
apparent than real. The loungers who were 
not buying or selling looked about them quite 
as vacuously as a blase Parisian or an ignorant 
tourist. 

The pins, rings, chains, and gewgaws proffered 
for pence ; the imitation flowers which imitated 
nothing under the sun except flycatchers ; the 
caps and bonnets of rainbow hues ; the greatcoats 
with velvet cuffs reaching to the elbow, and velvet 
neckbands like collars of state, all for twenty shil- 
lings ; the boot-laces sold by a fellow in a ragged 
woollen garment like an old - fashioned spencer 
reduced, who gave bits of his autobiography de- 
tailing his hardships and suff'erings as a dockyard 
labourer until he " discovered the unparalleled 
strength of the five-twist lace, and made his for- 
tune ;" the youth in true bricklayer's fustian who 
asked their vendor " if they were meant for yacht- 
ing boots as well as shooting," and, on being 
satisfied they were, bought a pair on the spot ; the 
knowing boys who taught each other how to tell 



86 SUNDAY TRADING. 

mock canaries from real, and how to detect impo- 
sition in the Hnnets at fourpence each, — all re- 
minded one of types to be seen elsewhere. 

The familiar faces of some of the best-known 
London beggars — notably the blind collier, the 
countryman with a withered arm, and the vener- 
able philosopher who sweeps his City crossing 
in straps and gloves — were to be seen edging 
their way among the crowd, and accepting do- 
nations less in the spirit of receiving alms than 
as Mr. Dorritt pocketed the testimonials of the 
collegians at the Marshalsea. It is probable that 
there was a good deal of cheating among the 
traders ; that short weight and adulteration were 
not unknown ; that Lord Napier had not author- 
ised the hawker of cheap hats to christen a par- 
ticularly villanous-looking wideawake by his name ; 
that the ' ' nobby boots warranted to do their five 
miles an hour, heel and toe, and to win their 
owner money," were not, as they said, by the maker 
" exclusively patronised by his Koyal Highness 
the Prince of Wales ;" that the '^ here, take 
me away, 14s. 6d.,'' and "with artful fakements 
down the side, 13s. 6<:L," of the cheap trousers' 
tickets, were intended to suggest something more 
than the intrinsic value of those useful articles ; 
and that the " real sealskin waistcoat" at 7s. 6d. 
was not entirely genuine, — indeed it could not be, 



SUNDAY TRADING. 87 

unless seals have been discovered witli skins of 
scarlet velveteen. But it was preeminently a holi- 
day scene for all that — rude, and rough, and coarse 
— but a holiday to the majority, and a treat to all. 

Dudley - street, Seven Dials, gave an entirely 
different side of Sunday trading. There was 
no promenading, little jollity, and less noise. 
Second-hand boots, each pair suggesting a differ- 
ent history, from the dainty new-footed Wellingtons 
with coloured morocco tops to the lowly blucher 
bulged, knobby, and stringless, form one of the 
staple trades. Second-hand goods, scarcely above 
the rank of marine stores, and comprising odd 
keys, odd locks, door-handles, wearing - apparel, 
broken china, silk stockings, and stay-laces, are 
displayed at other shops; but there is no open-air 
fair, no lounging for amusement's sake, no hum- 
our, and no chaff. The customers of Dudley- 
street are people with a purpose, who go to buy 
knowing exactly what they want — a race not to be 
tempted by blandishment, and above the weakness 
of hankering after society. 

The Brill and Chapel- street, Somers-town, were 
the New-cut over again. The temperance lecturer 
we listened to at the latter place, and who declared 
*' that, in a logical point of view, your Modera- 
tioner" — specified as a distinct genus, like the 
Esquimaux or the Ojibbaway — "was worse than 



88 SUNDAY TRADING. 

your drunkard," seeraed to liave multiplied him- 
self, and to be adorned with silver medals of 
many clasps at the Brill. At both places he had 
listeners ; so had the street preachers ; so had the 
" secularists" who expounded under the railway 
arch in the St. Pancras-road; so had the Cheap 
Johns; so had the earnest, thoughtful, intellec- 
tual but visionary - looking working man, who 
expounded a scheme for founding a colony in the 
Nebraska territor}^ on the cooperative principle ; 
so had the affable, sharp-eyed, smartly - dressed 
little American, who indorsed his friend's state- 
ments, and who made many a mouth water by his 
glowing description of the working man's position 
in the state of Chicago, from which he had come 
eight months before. Wherever there was any- 
thing to interest, or amuse, there was a crowd ; 
and the people who think the Sunday trading 
places of London are made up solely of cheaters 
and the cheated might do worse than explore for 
themselves, and see how much want of teaching, 
of occupation, and of a knowledge of better things, 
there are among their lounging crowds. 



OYEE THE WATER. 

" SooiciDES? yes, a vast o' tliem ! It's four- 
and- twenty years since I fust come to this toll- 
gate, and I must have seen forty or more. But 
there's funnier — that is, queerer — things than 
sooicides in public life ; and havin' been in public 
life — taking the bridge-money, that is — for so many 
years, I've got quite wrapped up in it, as yer may 
say. For I'm known to hundreds o' gentlemen I 
don't know except by taking their coppers ; and 
through the thousands I see in that way, I defy 
yer to take me to any part of the country without 
my meeting faces I know. Ten to ten day-dooty, 
and ten to ten night-dooty, with four-and-twenty 
hours at a stretch on Sundays, — that's our work- 
ing-time ; and the two fust and the two last hours 
are the busiest o' the lot in both night and day. 

"Well, gentlemen, it's a curious thing, but 
though the same faces may pass us every morn- 
ing and every night for years, we never miss 'em 
when they give up coming. They may die, or go 
to the bad, or leave these parts, you know, and 



90 OYER THE WATER. 

never cross tlie bridge at all after bein' over it 
twice a clay all their lives ; but vre never find it 
out. You'd lia' thought we would ? No doubt, 
no doubt ; but it's the quantity that does it. If 
we was to go on humbuggin' about missin' peo- 
ple, and askin' each other why old Bellers isn't 
through this morning, or where the little woman 
with the painted black-eye's gone to, there'd be a 
good deal o' toll lost, you may take my word. No, 
gentlemen, they just come and go, puts down their 
ha'pennies, or hands their tuppence out of a cab, 
and we passes a civil word, and there's an end of 
it. Scores upon scores of gentlemen I know in 
this way, and giv' the time o' day, or say a fine 
morning to, or the like o' that, and will do for 
years ; but when they go I never find it out, un- 
less they come back and tell me of it. Then I'll 
remember 'em fast enough. No call to speak to 
me, or to ask me questions. The instant I sees 
an old face coming towards the gate, I recollect 
he's been away. It all comes back to me then, 
and I say, ' Haven't seen you for some time, sir ;' 
or 'Not been our way lately;' as natural as if I 
had ticked off his absences every morning, like 
they used to do at school. It's the numbers that 
does it. You are all right with people, and they 
come through as a matter of course ; but directly 
they drop out another comes up in their place to 



OVER THE WATEE. 91 

keep up the average traffic ; so I defy you to miss 
one or two more or less. There's nothing to 
bring 'em to your mind, and people seem very 
like one another when clapping a copper down or 
taking change for a shillin' is all they have to do 
with yer. 

*'It seems to me, looking back on all these 
years, that I've been standing still while the 
world about me's been on the move. Day after 
day, wet or dry, sorry or glad, well or ill, men 
and women have come on like some great regi- 
ment, and there's hardly been a stoppage in their 
march. Working men, business men, rich men, 
poor men, happy men, sorrowful men, weddin's, 
funerals, pleasure -parties to Eichmond, school- 
treats, deserters from the army, prisoners going 
to gaol — all flit by and fade into one another like 
the figures in a magic-lantern. We see 'em for a 
minute, and there's an end of it. I never make 
a friend, gentlemen. It ain't business to make 
friends, and our people don't like gossiping, as in- 
terfering with dooty. 

"What is the first regular burst o' traffic in 
the morning ? Why, when tlie trains begin to 
come in. Before that, it's market-people to 
Covent - garden, workmen going to their day's 
work, shopmen, shop-girls, and here and there 
among 'em white-faced, staggering boozers, whose 



92 OVER THE WATER. 

crumpled dirty look tells one pretty plain they've 
had a stiff night's drinking bout. But these 
don't come in any sort of order. It's workmen or 
shopmen, or shopmen and workmen, in twos and 
threes — plenty of 'em, you understand, to keep 
one busy — but not sorted like, and not of one 
class. Now I'd wager I'd know, even on a strange 
bridge, if it was near a railway station, when the 
trains began, just by seeing the people at the toll- 
gate ; they make up such a rush of well-dressed, 
clean-shirted men. 

"Here, bein' on the high-road to Lincoln's-inn 
and the Temple, we have lawyers in heaps — plea- 
sant gentlemen enough what I see of 'em, but, 
Lord, to think o' their clients ! It takes a power 
o' misery to keep so many of these lawyers going, 
I'll warrant. And they often walk in couples and 
even threes, too, smilin' and chin-waggin' as 
affable and chatty as if they was going across for 
amusement. I often ses to my mate, ses I, ' If 
we could look in them little blue bags, or know 
what was hanging to that 'ere roll of papers, we'd 
find some curious stories.' 

"Lawyers ain't bad to tell, I fancy, but they're 
of two kinds. There's the quick, bustling, smil- 
ing sort, who claps down his copper with a good 
ring, and looks you straight in the face, as much 
as to say, ' Don't tell me it's bad, my good man, 



OVER THE WATER. 93 

I know better.' He's the man for a jury, I ex- 
pect. There's a kind o' pleasant, brazen, impu- 
dent look about him, which means hard swearing, 
and seems like a challenge to fight. He swaggers 
a little, too, in his walk, and at a muddy crossing 
he'll kind o' lift his coat up at the sides, as if it 
were a gown, and might trail in the mud. I 
don't mean that all the talking lawyers look bra- 
zen, far from it ; but there's a few who crosses 
regular who's like it, and the moment they come 
before me with their ha'penny, I'm reminded of 
inquests, and cross-examinations before the coro- 
ner as to ' what was the last words you heard her 
speak ?' and ' how did the body look when you 
see it dragged out ?' 

" The other kind o' lawyer is him that looks 
at yer without seeing yer, and stoops forward as 
if he were walking with his body over a desk. 
He's more melancholy, this sort is, and has a 
holler look about the cheeks, which makes one 
say, 'It don't seem to agree with you, whatever 
it may do with those employin' yer.' But it's 
wonderful to see how they all 'cotton' together, 
and how like they are to other people after all. I 
ain't sure a novice would know the breed. There's 
not anything to show that blood- sucking' s their 
trade; and to watch 'em arm-in-arm with their 
little bags before 'em, you might fancy they was 



94 OYER THE WATER. 

respectable gentlemen-tradesmen going to their 
shops. But them bags ! Think o' what they 
contain ! Think o' the trials one reads in the 
papers, and the quarrellin's, and sharp practices, 
and ill-justice, and hard dealings which come out 
in the law ! Why, gentlemen, one o' those bags 
perhaps contains more mischief than the barrel 
lighted at Clerkenwell. 'There's a young woman's 
portion,' I sometimes say, when I see a roll of 
papers sticking out of a pocket. ' There's a di- 
vorce.' ' There's a bankruptcy, with twopence in 
the pound, and the unfortunate bankrupt in clover 
in Italy.' 'There's an estate just changing hands, 
because the young squire had too much of a fancy 
for horses and dogs.' 'Luck go with you all,' is 
my motter ; but lawyers is lawyers all the world 
over ; and if you get much out o' those bags when 
your affairs are once in 'em, I wish yer joy. 

" The young gentlemen coming up to Prince's 
College are among the first lots, and don't vary 
much. I daresay some of 'em goes to other 
schools as well, but they don't often play pranks 
here, and are just decent lads, who are bein' 
crammed with learning and made clever. I was 
a long time before I could make out what a clergy- 
man come over here so regularly for. It was allers 
between nine and ten we saw him. He was a tall 
man, rather gray, and with a black ribbon and a 



OVER THE WATER. 95 

buncli of big seals for a watcli-chain, and low- 
lieelecl shoes, and gray stockings, which — his 
black trousers being short and worn — showed a 
good deal. He carried books with him, but they 
weren't ^ good' books like — you can mostly guess 
them ; and yet they seemed as if they were his 
business. Over again in the afternoon with books 
again, sometimes the same, sometimes different; 
and what he were we couldn't guess. There 
couldn't be any kind o' service which lasted all 
day and every day ; and yet he were a parson, and 
come through the turnstile whatever the weather 
were, which puzzled us finely until we heard he 
were a teacher at Prince's College. 

" Then there's Government House yonder; it 
sends a good many over here. You may know 
these by their so seldom varying in their time. 
I've seen middle-aged men grow old, and young 
men become middle-aged, without altering ten 
minutes in the time they put their copper down 
on that turn-table year after year. A sort o' 
cheerful ' don't-care' look the young men have 
mostly ; live down at Surbiton, and Kingston, 
and Putney, a lot of 'em, for the cricketing and 
boating. They're swells, too, and are smart as 
smart until perhaps you see 'em with a young 
ladylike thing on their arms, and then carrying 
down little baskets of fish, and then perhaps 



96 OVER THE WATER. 

parcels of grocery; and then tliey ain't quite so 
smart, and then a year or two goes on and they 
ain't smart at all, and then they get shabby a bit, 
and seem to age quickly. But still they come 
regularly by, now and then with a big lad they 
seem to be taking to school or to business, until 
they drop out and are forgotten. 

'' But, there ! I could go on for ever talking 
to you about the people I know by sight. The 
cabs, mind you, ain't a bad lot to look after, and 
the cabmen many of 'em have their homes and 
their stables on the Lambeth side. They'll just 
pass the word to one on good or bad times, and 
the fares they've had. The sixpence a mile, mind 
yer, presses hard on them ; and when the lamp- 
strike was on, people who knew about it could 
have told yer how badly they were off, and how 
hard it is for many of 'em to earn the master's 
money, let alone enough for the wife and children 
at home. Everyone's hand is against a cabman, 
as it seems to me, and I've often given a ' Cheer 
up, mate !' to a poor fellow returning home after 
a long day out, and with a nearly empty pocket 
at the end of it. As for the thousands of passen- 
gers that are what one may call ' casuals' — people 
one never sees again, and never thinks of at all 
— they're just like play-actors to us. Wliat they 
are, how they live, what they're thinking about, 



I 



OVER THE WATER. 97 

is just all as strange to us, and as far off, as if 
they weren't alive at all. It's a funny thing to 
think, but I suppose they've every one of 'em 
got their own story, and have homes and wor- 
ries, and people fond of 'em, just as we have our- 
selves. 

''When do sooicides happen oftenest? 0, at 
night, of course; not but what there's some chooses 
the day-time, too. Perhaps the rummiest of 
these was about seven or eight year ago. I re- 
member it particular well, because I'd just been 
having a bit o' beefsteak-puddin' for my dinner, 
which had been brought me up hot in a 
basin. I live a bit o' way down the road, and 
it's handy for having anything sent up. I'd 
just finished it, and was wrapping-up the basin 
and plate in the handkercher, ready for it to be 
fetched at tea-time, when a young girl in a yellow 
shawl, and, I think, a black-silk dress, but I'm 
not sure of that, comes up. She were in a cab, 
she were, and she hands me a shillin', and I 
gives her sixpence and fourpenn'orth o' copper 
out. ' Keep that for yourself,' she ses, 'I sha'n't 
want no more o' that. I've had a row with my 
young man,' she ses, ' and I'm goin' to put a' 
end to it.' Well, I thought she was larking, for 
she didn't look a bit wild, and hadn't got that 
troubled look about the eyes most of 'em have 

H 



98 OVER THE WATER. 

when tliey mean miscliief. So I up and ses, 
* Don't go on in that foolish way/ I ses ; ' a good- 
looking young woman like you ought to know bet- 
ter;' and she just laughed, and took the change 
I offered, her. Well, there was a big railway-van, 
and a brougham with rather a fidgety white hoss, 
waiting at the time, and I had to give the gent 
in the brougham change for a half ' skiv,' and 
this took my attention off the cab with the gal, 
after I'd seen it pass the first recess. That's the 
spot, I may tell you, they make for in a general 
way. But the next thing I heard was a great 
screech, and I'm blessed if she hadn't been artful 
enough not to stop the cab until she were oppo- 
site the second recess, and then, with a ' Good-bye, 
cabbie !' was up on the stone seat and over, with 
a yell that could be heard at Blackfriars -bridge. 
I've heard a many of 'em holler in the water, but 
I never heard one give mouth as she did, and I 
don't suppose I ever shall again. 

"But now comes the curious part of the affair. 
The wind was high at the time, and the tide 
running strong; and her crinoline andjDetticoats 
got what they call inflated, and she didn't go 
down. Saved ? — of course she was ; she couldn't 
sink, and the tide just took her and twisted her 
round and round like a teetotum, she screaming 
and bellering for help all the time, till she got 



O^^R THE WATER. 99 

picked up just off the Temple-gardens, and she 
wasn't a bit worse, except being wetted and a 
little bruised. No, I never saw her again, nor 
heard how it ended, except that she were jolly 
well frightened, and cried, and promised the ma- 
gistrate she wouldn't do it again. 

*' Yes, it was odd her bein' saved, wasn't it? 
for they generally fetches their level directly, and 
is often dead before they touches the water. What 
do I mean by level ? Why, the piers sticking 
out at the bottom are just under each recess, and 
anyone jumping over generally hits these fust. 
Many and many one never hears their own splash. 
I remember one summer morning, about four 
years ago, coming out o' the toll-house for a 
stretch soon after sunrise, and was just thinking 
what a beautiful place London was ; the clock- 
tower and the Houses of Parliament, St. Paul's 
and the bridges, were all looking splendid; and 
let me tell you, that if you haven't seen London 
from our bridge in early morning, you've missed 
one of the most beautiful views in the world. 

" Just stand as I do, and look first one way 
and then the other, beyond Yauxhall-bridge on 
the one side, and to the Tower and Docks on the 
other, with the rising sun gilding the church- 
spires and house-tops, and the clear gray light of 
morning softenin' everything down; and I don't 



100 0^'EE THE WATER. 

care what foreign parts you've been to, you'd say 
this beats it. The shape of the houses is so 
altered at that time, that you wouldn't know 'em. 
They seem to have been touched with something 
in the night that brings out their beauties, and 
hides away the common look I don't deny they 
have now. And there's not a sign of life about. 
You just lean over the parapet, and throw stones 
into the water, and you're the only living thing 
within sight. The whole city is asleep, the bridges 
are empty, and there's neither smoke nor noise 
to remind you of the fuss and bustle which will 
come on in a few hours. 

"It's a queer thing to think of as you look 
up and down the river at the hundreds upon 
hundreds of silent houses on both sides, the 
look of all the people asleep within. ^^Tiy even 
the laTv^ers are off their guard, I suppose, then, 
and have a natural expression. And so with 
all the men and women one sees. The ' makes- 
up,' and the smiles and fuss and bother that 
must be wiped out by sleep, often makes me 
look hard at the houses, as if one could see 
through blinds and shutters, and watch the sleep- 
ing figures inside. I've heard of some place be- 
ing called the city of the dead ; but London 
between night and day, when the fever of the 
one's over, and the fever of the other hasn't 



OVER THE WATER. 101 

begun, reminds me more of a giant at rest, who's 
quiet enough now, but who'll be all fury and 
excitement presently, giving me tuppence out of 
a hansom, and flinging down ha'pennies with a 
bang. 

" Well, it was one of these mornings I'd just 
come out, and was looking over Westminster way, 
when I saw what looked like a heap o' clothes on 
the buttress underneath me. It wasn't quite as 
light as I've been talking about, and I couldn't 
rightly see what it was, so I hollers to a barge- 
man, the one man about, and who was just get- 
ting up, and I ses, ' That 'ere bundle on our 
bridge looks funny,' I ses; 'just tell us what it 
is.' But I'd seen for myself before he could get 
his boat round — it soon gets light, you know, 
when it once begins — and there was an old man 
who'd jumped over at low water, and had fetched 
his level, and come down plump upon the stone. 
He'd never moved, and not a rag on him was 
even wet, for he'd fallen plump on his head and 
settled there. A solicitor he was, and with very 
good friends, as it turned out. 

"Queer incidents besides sooicides ? Yes, I 
could tell you a good many o' them. One night 
a man come up to the toll-house stark naked. 
There wasn't a rag or thread on him ; and yet 
he looked in here, and spoke to me as cool as if 



102 OVER THE WATER. 

he were dressed in the height o' fashion. 'What 
in the world are you doing in that 'ere nude 
state ?' I ses ; ' don't yer know yer oughtn't to ?' 
I ses, for I thought, he was perhaps mad, and it 
were better to humour him till the police came 
up. 'Been bathing in the river,' he ses, 'and 
they've stolen my clothes away from the water- 
side.' ' Can you pay for a cab ?' I asked, more 
to see wot he was made of than thinldng he could. 
' Ay, and for twenty cabs,' he ses, which I thought 
too bumptious in a man as bare as a baby. How- 
ever, I giv' him a coat to wrap round him, and 
put him in the warmest corner. He were a re- 
spectable man enough, a die-sinker, out of Clerken- 
well, who'd got tight, and thought a swim in the 
river would sober him before he went home to 
his wife. So he just went down to the timber- 
wharf, and took off his clothes and went in. 
Some one must ha' seen him do it, for when he'd 
had his swim and come out to dress, his clothes 
were gone. He didn't know what to do, and he 
were afraid o' daylight coming on and his being 
found, so he'd come up to the bridge and asked 
for shelter. That were his story, and it turned 
out quite true. I offered to send him home in a 
cab with a policeman, but it couldn't be done all 
at once, for the peeler had to report him at Bow- 
street first. So he went up there in my coat— 



OVEE THE WATEE. 103 

and a precious cold night it was — and then they 
dressed him up as a policeman and took him 
home. 

" Then there was that poor fellow as were 
hung for killing the girl in Trotter's -road. I 
knew him well enough — a bricklayer he was, and 
no more meant to kill her than you nor me did. 
They was living as man and wife, you'll under- 
stand, and had lodgings a little way down on the 
left, just before you come to the doll- shop. Well, 
he'd been out on the loose, he had, for two or 
three days, drinking, you know, and worse ; but 
he'd come back, and the two of 'em went for a 
drain to Blinkie's bar — you know Blinkie's big 
public-house at the corner, by the railway, with a 
gal at the bar all curls and colour ? — and that's 
how the mischief came about ; for, just as he'd 
ordered a drain of gin to make it up with his 
wife, up comes a little round-faced girl — she's 
about here now, and crosses nearly every day — 
and began chaffin' him, as if she knew him well. 
This naturally led to words, and instead of mak- 
ing it up as he intended, they had a blazing row, 
and his wife went home. He foller'd her later, 
after drinking more than was good for him. She 
began taunting and jeering, and he commenced 
knocking her about ; but he didn't mean to kill 
her : I do believe he didn't mean to kill her. 



104 OVER THE WATER. 

However, tliey hanged liim, and there was an 
end o' that. But he were as nice and quiet a 
fellow in a general way as you'd wish to come 
across, and it seemed hard, didn't it, that he 
should suffer so terribly for his spree ? 

" Talking of sooicides, I prevented a young 
woman killing herself once in a way I sha'n't try 
again. It were on a market-morning, quite early, 
and she giv' me her ring for her toll, saying she'd 
bring the ha'penny and get it back later in the 
day. I looked at her hard, and thought she were 
a bit wild ; but I let her go, and vras busy for the 
next minute taking the money for a cart loaded 
with cabbages, and when I looked again, blest if 
she wasn't climbing over the parapet. I ran after 
her, and caught her by her hair when she was on 
the ledge outside. She was crouching down ready 
for a spring, and I got my fingers and my hand 
lapped round and round in her long hair as firm 
as if they had grown together. Well, she giv' a 
scream — I shall never forget it — and threw herself 
off, with me clinging to her ! I'd got my body 
half-way over to reach her, and what with the 
suddenness and her weight, I thought she'd have 
had me over too. And I couldn't get my hand 
free, that was the worst of it. If I could, of 
course I'd ha' let her go. You're not to go and 
throw away your life over a person like that. 



OVER THE WATER. 105 

Trjdng to save 'em's your clooty, of course ; but 
you're not to kill yourself because they're fools. 
I struggled and struggled to get my hand free, 
and I couldn't, and all the time she kept on yell- 
ing ; my strength was givin' way with her weight 
and her kicking, and I was gradually losing my 
balance, when a man and another cart come by, 
and I hollered to him a good 'un to come and help 
me. He stared at first, but afterwards he come 
up and put his arms round my middle, and we 
both pulled together, and we got her up. 

" I never was so near death in my life; and 
you may take my word that I'll let any one of 'em 
go over altogether, rather than run such a risk 
again. Set to abusing the pair of us she did, too, 
directly we got her hauled over the parapet, and 
on to the stone seat of the recess, 'It's no use 
o' crying and o' bellering,' I ses, 'because that's 
foolishness, yer know ; and wot good do yer ex- 
pect to do yerself by going into the water ?' But 
there ! you might as well ha' argued with a blind 
pig. Keasonable talk didn't touch her nohow, 
and she just cried and went on, and fairly lay on 
her back and stamped her feet with passion at 
being saved. I never heard what become of her 
after she served the time the magistrate sentenced 
her to. In the dock she said she v/ere sorry, and 
would never do so no more : but never a word of 



106 OVER THE WATER. 

apology, nor so much as tliankye to me for all 
the trouble I took and the risk I run. There's 
a Tulgar song you may 'ave heard about the 
streets, 'Not for Joseph;' and I say 'Not for 
Joseph, never no more, at the savin' game,' when 
it means risking one's life for a pack of fools 
who 're trying to throw away theirs, and yours too, 
if you'd let 'em. 

" There was a young woman, too, who jumped 
over last summer, and got clear of the piers some- 
how, and fell screaming into the water ; and she 
nearly caused a policeman to kill himself over her. 
She were close in shore, that's where she were, 
and we could see her quite well, when me and 
him ran down below to try to get to her. It was 
a beautiful moonlight night, an extraordinary 
bright night it was, and I'd just had my supper, 
and was standing on the bridge with a newspaper, 
and showing the peeler how light it was by read- 
ing to him quite easy, when we heard the screams. 
We ran down as hard as we could, and there she 
was, crying, ' Save me, save me !' and bein' jerked 
about by the water, until it really looked as if she 
were larking, only we knew better. The tide was 
running pretty strong, and as luck would 'ave it, 
a great piece of old timber came floating down 
just to where she were struggling. We called to 
her to catch hold of it, and she evidently heard, 



OVEE THE WATEE. 107 

for she made a grab and got lier arm well over, 
and we thought it were all right. But it were 
that slimy and greasy^ — I can see it now, covered 
with black and green stuff like seaweed, through 
bein' so long in the water — it slipped from under 
her, and she went down screaming again. 

''We were standing on the timber-rafts of the 
wharf below, and had shoved a ladder out over the 
water to try to reach her, for she were close to us, 
and we could see her face quite plain. The police- 
man went out on one end of this, and I stood hard 
and fast on the other ; but just as he was getting 
near her it broke, and he was in the water too. 
I thought he'd ha' bin drownded, but he managed 
to scramble out again, and I wouldn't let him try 
no more. ' One at a time,' I ses; for I knew it 
were all over then. She didn't scream any more, 
and we found afterwards she were sucked under 
the timbers we were standing on, and the next 
time she rose she were stunned by knocking her 
head against them. They were obliged to hush 
it up, she were such a dreadful sight when she 
were found. The tide had driven her up and 
down under the blocks of wood, and she were 
fearful to look upon. 

" But you mustn't think from my talk that 
one's nothing else to think of here besides sooi- 
cides. There's explosions, such as the Cricket 



108 OVER THE WATER. 

ha'penny steamboat, which I saw go into little 
pieces right up into the air about twenty years 
ago. I forget the cause of it exactly. The cap- 
tain wanted to make too much speed, and tied 
the safety-Yalve down, or something of that kind ; 
but I know I heard a great noise Adelphi- ter- 
race way, and saw a grand burst o' steam, and 
as it cleared away, the pieces of the steamer 
falling in a great shower of iron and spars and 
wheels. 

" The bridge itself? 0, that's well taken care 
of, and nothing disorderly ever happens. There's 
a policeman on always, and since this Fenian talk 
there's been two. The company don't object to 
fruit-stalls, or, as our old secretary who's dead 
used to say, 'to helping anyone to get a decent 
living.' So they just get permission, and put up 
their apples and oranges, or what not, and do the 
best they can. I haven't seen the old fellow with 
a model ship for a long time, but he used to be 
very regular ; and the blind man who sits nearly 
every day in the last recess on the left reading, 
is a thoroughly deserving case. Got a wife, poor 
fellow ! and was a 'ardworking bricklayer until he 
lost his sight through bile. No, sir, not by an 
accident, but bile overflowing the system through ; 
but it don't much matter what it was if you think 
different. I know him to be a respectable man, 



OVER THE WATER. 109 

poor fellow ! and I hardly ever pass without giving 
him a copper. 

" Then there's the accidents. You'd hardly 
helieve the number that's come under my notice 
in these four-and-twenty year. Runaway horses, 
upset carts and carriages, collisions from drunken 
drivers, slips on the snow or on orange-peel ; hoys 
playing at ' Charley Wag,' and jumping slap on 
their nose, cutting it flat to the cheek, and going 
straight to the hospital and having a new one, 
which you'd never know it ; girls dropping babies 
down stone steps, and women falling under horses 
when they're drunk. One has seen all these 
things from this little house. Never believing 
anything is the rule I've taught myself in public 
life ; and whatever happens, and I'm told of it, I 
just don't believe it till I know for certain it's true. 

"No, sir, we're rather less busy since the Char- 
ing-Cross Railway opened ; just as the Waterloo 
Station made us, as I may say. There's six of us 
collectors now, and two boys ; and the hours are 
what I say, and no sleeping allowed. At one 
time they'd let one take a nap at night and turn 
out when wanted ; but that was when the hours 
were shorter, and we're bound to be on duty 
always now. I like it better as it is ; but the 
great thing I can't get over when I'm sitting by 
myself at night is. What is everything for ; and 



110 OVER THE WATER. 

"wliat does the constant bustle mean ? Seeing so 
much o' the world and yet so little — for I never 
takes a holiday, and only knows this bridge — 
puts queer fancies into one's head. How many 
of the people, I often wonder, who pass me day 
by day are there who find what they're so hot to 
seek? and how many of those, again, like it as 
well as they expected when they do ? Why they 
come across at all, and why each lot couldn't be 
satisfied with its own side of the water, is always 
a mystery to me. 

*' But there ! it sometimes seems as if life 
were nothing but a perpetual crossing of bridges, 
first from childishness to youth, and then on to man- 
hood and old age ; and it's not much use asking 
questions when one has to pay toll and pass on. 
When one dear to me were so ill I thought I should 
ha' lost her, it seemed strange that not one out 
o' all my crowd o' passengers knew o' the heavi- 
ness that was in my heart ; and it's curious to 
think that when I'm gone there's thousands upon 
thousands will notice a new face at the gate, and 
only miss me by that. But there's other places 
besides toll-bars where a man's known to many, 
and sympathised with, or prized, or loved by very 
few indeed. So, doing your dooty and working 
your hardest, is my receipt for out-o'-the-way 
fancies either about others or yourself." 



i 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

The Hole is within shouting distance of Victoria 
Station, Belgravia, and the Wall is in the midst 
of the labyrinth of rails leading to and from that 
mighty maze. Its title and use are as well known 
in the official railway world as the station itself is 
to the world of travellers, and from it are issued 
daily and nightly signals of safety, by means of 
which the lives of thousands are secured. " There 
is but one line in, you see, and one out for all the 
different traffic of this station, and they all join 
opposite these signals," put the facts of the case 
in a nutshell, and completely satisfied us as to the 
meaning of the strange little private box we were 
peering into. 

But let us first walk round Victoria Station, 
commencing at the Grosvenor Hotel, and follow- 
ing the pavement until we turn the corner and 
gain the booking-offices of the London, Chatham, 
and Dover Company. It is a goodly distance, and 
we pass a variety of intending passengers and 
ticket-placeS; and, multiplying the space traversed 



112 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

by the number of lines of railway which can be 
packed into it, we arrive at a proximate estimate 
of the quantity of trains, engines, " empties," or 
luggage-vans which may be standing side by side 
and waiting egress. Excursions to Brighton and 
the south coast ; frequent trains to the Crystal 
Palace ; Metropolitan, Great Western, and Lon- 
don, Chatham, and Dover traffic, make up a stu- 
pendous total, the whole of which converges into 
two single lines opposite the Hole in the Wall. 
No train leaves or enters the station until sig- 
nalled to do so from here, and the safety and life 
of every man, woman, and child leaving Victoria 
depends upon the vigilance of the single sentinel 
at his post. He is relieved three times in the 
twenty-four hours, and the turn of duty we are 
about to keep commenced at half-past seven this 
morning, and will terminate at half-past one this 
afternoon. The whole signal duty of the Hole 
falls upon three men, who take their eight hours' 
work alternately, and who with one telegraph clerk 
are its sole occupants. 

Passing up the centre platform of the London 
and Brighton Kailway, we step, not without some 
tremors of misgiving, on to the lines at its ex- 
treme end, and after leaving a busy signal-box to 
the right, and dodging a couple of passenger trains, 
a stray engine or two, and a long batch of return- 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 113 

ing " empties" from the Crystal Palace, reach a 
small wooden staircase and ante-room, from which 
we look into the Hole. It is very like an unfur- 
nished private box at the theatre, into which some 
of the mechanist's properties have been put by 
mistake. Cautiously warned by our conductor 
not to distract the attention of the man on duty, 
we advance on tiptoe, and stand on the threshold 
between ante -room and box. A nervous jump 
back again, a vivid experience of the sensation 
known as "pins and needles," a half involuntary 
guarding of the face as if to ward off an impend- 
ing blow, are the first results of the experiment. 
For the mechanist's properties are of the most 
impulsively practicable kind, and bells ring, whis- 
tles shriek, hands move, and huge iron bars creak 
and groan apparently of their own accord, and cer- 
tainly by agencies which are invisible. On the 
right-hand wall of the box, and on a level with 
the eye, are fastened four cases, which communi- 
cate telegraphically with the platforms of the sta- 
tion, with Battersea Park, and with Stewart's-lane 
junction ; and the movable faces of these are full 
of mysterious eloquence. The farthest one strikes 
what seems to be a gong twice, and then, without 
waiting for a reply, bangs the gong four times ; 
the needle hands of the others tick away with 
spasmodic vigour, and the telegraphic clerk busily 

I 



114 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

passes from one to the other, as if satisfying the 
wants of each. Beyond them is a small wooden 
desk and an open book, in which from time to 
time their utterances are recorded, much as if 
they were oracles whose sayings would be after- 
wards interpreted by the high priests. 

Beyond the desk, and at the far end of the 
Hole, is a narrow window, through which the 
workmen employed on an extension of railway, 
the rude chasms formed by the excavators, the 
premature ruins of the houses half pulled down, 
and the shapely indications of the coming lines, 
may all be seen. To the left of this window, and 
facing the entrance-door, is an apparatus which 
we can only describe as terrifying. Composed of 
strong and massive cranks so connected as to form 
a consistent whole, and resembling a tangled agri- 
cultural harrow, or one of the weird in struments 
of torture which racked the limbs of schismatics 
in the bad old times, it has secret springs, and 
bells, and joints, which creak, and act, and tingle 
with a direct suddenness highly discomposing to 
a stranger. You look mildly at one of its joints, 
and have a question concerning its use on the tip 
of your tongue, when, presto ! it gives a cumbrous 
flap, and becomes a staring red signboard, with 
" Crystal Palace up waiting," or " Brighton down 
waiting," staring you in the face. The bells ring 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 115 

violently, the speaking faces of tlie sliut-up cases 
tingle in unison, and the whole proceedings re- 
mind you forcibly of Mr. Home and the false 
spirit- world. 

The Hole-in-the-Waller in charge, whom for 
brevity's sake we will for the future designate by 
the last word of his title, knows all about it, and 
acts promptly; but to the rash people who have, 
ventured into his cave of mystery the proceedings 
are awesome to the last degree. Waller stands in 
the front of the private box, which is, of course, open 
to the stage. This stage is the '' one line in and 
one line out," and the heavy iron handles coming 
inwards from the front of the box are momentarily 
worked by him in obedience to the shrieking direc- 
tions of the machinery named. Thus, when the 
time for starting a train arrives, word is given to 
Waller, and one of the red iron flaps comes down 
with the suddenness of a practicable shop-front in 
a pantomime, and it rests with him to turn a 
handle and arrange the ''points." Thus, too, 
when a train is arriving, Battersea-bridge signals 
Waller, who decides whether the coast is clear 
and it may come in. It is necessary to remember 
the space we have traversed, and the number of 
lines of rails it represented, to appreciate the de- 
licacy and care required. Looking down upon 
the two narrow rails, spreading as they do into 



116 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

divers directions directly they pass the Hole and 
approach the station, it seemed to our uninformed 
observation like squeezing several gallons of liquid 
into a pint measure. 

Shriek, whiz, bang from the engine, a harsh 
grating sound from the wheels, a brief spasm of 
ponderous locomotion which shakes every fibre of 
our standing ground, and we learn that another 
and another human cargo of pleasure or health 
seekers, or trouble-fliers or money-hunters, have 
passed by. A rapid jerk upwards or downwards 
of one of the iron handles, another angry flap 
from the instrument of torture, substituting the 
red disc, "Crystal Palace" or "Brighton" "In" 
for " Out," a slight change of position in Waller, 
and an equally slight movement from the tele- 
graph clerk, are the only signs within the prison- 
house. At the end of the long row of iron handles 
is a chair, evidently placed there to taunt Waller 
on the impossibility of sitting down ; and keeping 
a fascinated e^^e on the constantly changing discs 
opposite, we occupy this with the firm resolve to 
master the mysteries of railway-signalling, and to 
become an affiliated member of the Hole in the 
Wall. The attempt was a farce, and the result a 
failure. 

Waller, a good honest fellow, with black and 
oily hands, what seemed to be a wisp of engineer's 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 117 

*' waste" round his neck, a rather grimy face, a 
keen gray eye, and an expression honest as a 
child's smile, cast observations to us interjection- 
ally, which he firmly believed to be elucidatory. 
But they only served to increase the bewilderment, 
the flaps and jerks and loud tingling had brought 
about ; and, beyond realising very keenly that the 
faintest slip or mistake on his part would have 
wrought unmitigated disaster, we failed to master 
a single detail of what we had come specially to 
see. " You see, it's mostly cross traffic, is this." 
Bang went one of the cranks, and out came ^' Me- 
tropolitan out waiting," with its wicked red disc 
face ; whereupon bells rang, and Waller worked a 
handle, '' as I was a-sayin'." Now the train it- 
self rushed by, and word came that a train from 
Brighton was waiting to come in. "Empties" 
from the Crystal Palace ; a shouting game of ques- 
tion and answer with a pointsman, who uplifts 
both arms, and remains motionless, like the letter 
y in a charade ; several flaps from the malevolent 
discs, who seem to take unholy pleasure in inter- 
ruption ; a turning of handles affecting the three 
dial-signals over the lines to the left, which jut 
out hands and arms obediently ; shrill whistles to 
the right ; a constant watchfulness at the speak- 
ing-faces behind, occupy Waller for the next five 
minutes, and make conversation impossible. 



118 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

^' Now you see, sir, tliat diss (disc), it tells me 
tlie Brigiitin eleven forty-five it's a-waitin' to come 
out" — bang goes another infernal gong — " but," 
continues Waller, quite calmly, " I know, don't 
you see, that there's somethin' in the way" — two 
strikes on a more musical instrument here, and a 
rapid jerk upwards of a heavy iron handle by the 
speaker — " and now it's all right, as they're put- 
tin' another carriage on, and so, as I was sayin', 
the line's clear and I lets 'em through." 

On the instant a train rushes angrily out as 
if indignant at delay, and we recognise old 
Jawby nursing his shin in a first-class carriage 
just as he does in the club-library in town. Ah, 
Jawby, the superiority of our present position 
makes us view your social shortcomings with 
gentle pity and toleration. Uplifting your stupid 
old forefinger and wagging your pendulous old 
nose, you were, doubtless, inveighing to your 
travelling-companion against the infamy of a rail- 
way-company starting a train " three minutes and 
a half late, sir," just as we hear you inveighing 
daily against the shameful conduct of the minis- 
try, or the hideous incapacity of foreign statesmen. 
Your innocence tickles us as we sit here and know 
that the three minutes you complain of has saved 
your life. A wrong turn of this handle, Jawby, a 
momentary forgetfulness of the meaning of the 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 119 

red ''diss," and you and your belongings would 
have been scattered broadcast, to prose and grumble 
and improve the world (in words) no more. 

It is curious, as this truth gains shape and 
force, to look from the Hole at the ever-changing 
stage at its feet. Trains succeed each other with 
strange rapidity — "a little extra traffic to-day, you 
know, sir, bein' Saturday and the Crystal Palace" 
— and as each compartment shows you a compact 
section of human life, with its hopes, fears, plea- 
sures, and cares, you come to regard Waller's 
potentiality for good or evil as something unna- 
tural. Suppose he were to go suddenly mad? 
Suppose the many irons entered into his soul, and 
he vowed hostility to his race ? Suppose he had 
intermittent bouts of absence of mind ? Suppose 
he had a fit ? Suppose he became muddled by 
the constant succession of whistles, bangs, and 
shrieks which have had such a pitiable effect on 
you ? — and to all these questions he makes un- 
conscious answer in his brisk alertness and ever- 
watchful eye. 

The stage-box simile gains force from the de- 
meanour of some of the people in the trains. As 
your first tremors wear off, and you become more 
hardened to the maniacal working of the practi- 
cable harrow in your front, you regard the car- 
riages more closely and with some curious optical 



120 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

effects. Nothing like full speed is attained by tlie 
time the Hole is gained, and as the various passen- 
gers flit past, they seem like the phantasmagoria 
of a magic lantern when the slides follow each 
rapidly, but not without each figure being firmly 
impressed upon the retina. Thus, the billing and 
cooing of a young man in a white waistcoat and 
blue-spangled necktie with a rosy damsel in a buff- 
muslin suit was very apparent. The red hand of 
the young man against the dull yellow of his be- 
loved's waist was a study for an artist of the pre- 
Eaphaelite school, who might have done wonders 
with the finger-nails and the amorously wooden 
expression of the twain. There were some fine 
studies, too, of babies' heads in the act of taking 
the oldest form of nutriment ; while, without 
reckoning Jawby, there were some '' old men elo- 
quent," who would have looked marvellously well 
on signboards. 

It seemed a new view of one's fellow- creatures 
to see them as animated half-lengths, and, as shoal 
after shoal flitted by, the ease with which they 
might be immolated recurred again and again with 
terrible suggestiveness. We felt to look down 
upon them figuratively as well as literally, when 
the touch of one of the instruments at our hand 
could consign them to immediate destruction ; 
and, dreadful as the confession may seem, the 



THE HOLE IN THiE V/ALL. 121 

speculation as to wliicli of them would suffer 
most, and how easily they could be all brought 
to naught, gained deeper and deeper hold as the 
trains rolled out. We cannot analyse, and of course 
do not attempt to justify, this feeling. It is humi- 
liating enough to acknowledge it, but it is certain 
that a morbid and an increasing longing to try 
the experiment of turning a wrong handle and 
bringing two full trains into collision was the first 
warning given us of the strain on the nerves pro- 
duced by the noises and signals described. Pup- 
pets in toy-boxes, some well-bedecked, pretty, and 
glossy, others seamed, shabby, and worn by much 
use, all playthings of the hour ; such was the im- 
pression conveyed by the well-laden trains and 
their cargoes as they rushed madly out and in, in 
obedience to the hidden springs we touched. 

'' I didn't let this Chatham and Dover in afore, 
sir, which it signalled twice, because if I had it 
w^ould ha' cut them Crystal Palaces in tw^o," w^as 
honest Waller's comment, as one train went slowly 
by, the guard of which nodded to us as to old 
acquaintance. 

"What's coming now?" called a porter from 
below, who broke through the rule otherwise ob- 
served during our stay, of signalling without 
speech. 

" Only Empties." 



122 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

" Blessed if it ain't Jack Eeece, -mill the car- 
riages as went down to the Palace this morn- 
ing!" 

And Mr. Eeece, an engine-driver of scorbutic 
habit, and with an inflamed nose, was permitted 
to pass slowly in with his conY03\ The locomo- 
tives of the different companies grew upon us like 
old friends, as their distinctive marks were mas- 
tered and they were introduced by Waller. The 
situation of what he continued to call their ''diss" 
determined their ownership. A plain white circle 
on the chimney or boiler, or a white circle picked 
out with black, similarly placed, were the identi- 
fying marks ; and it required but a slight sketch 
of fancy to endow them with life. They certainly 
seemed to have more will and power than the 
poor puppet-heads grinning and gesticulating in 
the cells forming a portion of their flexible tail ; 
and we at last came to regard the noisy j)uffing 
snorters as proud-spirited genii, whose humours 
must be studied under fearful penalties. In the 
brief lulls, we questioned our companion concern- 
ing his mode and time of work, and other mat- 
ters. 

" Yes, sir, it do require a man to be mindful 
as to what he's a-doing of — there ain't no doubt 
o' that ; and, as I said to the superintendent the 
other day, a signalman must be allers right" — 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 123 

Waller smiled here with a touch of bitterness — 
" allers right he must be, let who will be wrong, 
and that's where it is. No, sir, I don't make no 
complaint of the hours, which is considered mo- 
derate — eight hours in the twenty-four, which, as 
I told you, I came on at sivin-thirty, and at one- 
thirty I'm due off. Sharp work it is, sir, while it 
lasts, and tirin' to the arms until yer used, as I 
may say, but we never had nothin' wrong until 
that affair the other day, which you'll perhaps re- 
member. It was that there rod just in front of 
us that looks new like, that did the mischief. No, 
sir, I worn't on duty myself at the time, and the 
man that was ain't been here since — has been 
discharged, I believe. Yes, sir, it seems a little 
strict, but it ain't for m.e to judge, of course, bein' 
only a servant; but, as you say, it does seem 
rather harsh. For he was a careful man, he was 
— a very careful man. I don't believe he'd ever 
made a mistake afore — and he's fit for signal-work 
anywheres, but, you see, they thought he ought 
to ha' felt by this handle that the point didn't act, 
and ought to have prevented the train a-comin' 
in, which one certainly would ha' thought he 
might, though it ain't for me to judge. 

" No, sir, I shouldn't like to have another 
man at work with me ; and I'm sure it wouldn't 
answer. You see, a man at signal-work is con- 



124 THE HOLE IX THE WALL. 

stantly occipied, and there's allers somethin' for 
liim to do. But if there was two of 'em a- work- 
ing the same signals, why one woukl perhaps 
think the other had hold o' the handles or was 
a-watching for the diss, and, hefore he found 
out his mistake, why we should have a couple 
o' trains cuttin' each other in two. No, sir, 
there weren't any passengers killed nor injured, 
as I've heerd, but I believe one of the porters 
was bruised and shaken rather bad, and was 
taken off to the 'orspital. The man turned the 
handle right enough, just as I turn this ; but, 
instead o' the rod moving as you see that do 
now, why, bein' broke, it didn't act, and brought 
on the accident. No, sir, you can't very well sit 
down, not in the daytime, at least ; and you 
haven't time not scarcely to eat a bit o' food" 
— and AValler glanced here at a basin wrapped 
in a pink -cotton pocket-handkerchief, and sus- 
pended from a nail behind me — " except stand- 
ing, and while you're at your work. 

" Well, sir, I couldn't say exactly how many 
trains come in and out of a day, but there's a 
tidy lot of 'em, and engines and empties as well. 
First train out, sir, is what we call the work- 
men's train, and leaves at four in the morning. 
It's a Chatham and Dover, and takes the la- 
bourers, and such like, to the works about. 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 125 

Well, you see, it ain't only the men as starts 
from here, but, bein' a stoppin' train, it picks 
'em up at all the stations it passes near. Then, 
the last train in to Yictoria, is a London and 
Brighton, which is due at fifty-five arter twelve 
at night ; so, you see, there ain't more than 
three hours, as you may say, when passenger 
trains ain't runnin' in the twenty -four. Yes, 
it's pretty much as you see it now through the 
day, but slacks a little at night. The busiest 
railway signal-place? Well, it used to be reck- 
oned so ; but, what with improvements and alter- 
ations, and new lines, there's several now where 
there's more doin' than this one. Yes, sir, more 
than every minute or two, as you see ; and the 
train-tables they don't give you but a very poor 
'dear of the number of signals. The traffic of 
this station is a good double what you'd find 
in any train -table, because they don't take in 
what you may call the station traffic, such as 
engines, or carriages shunting, or empty trains 
which is wanted to begin again with when there's 
a run of specials." 

These facts were not given consecutively, but 
by fits and starts, in the intervals of handles 
being jerked, or whistles answered, or the flaps 
of the red " disses" obeyed. Waller had neither 
peace nor rest; and as the engine-drivers and 



126 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

guards passed by, we discovered that a sharp twist 
of the head and a peculiar grimace, like that of 
an unsophisticated dram-drinker when the " nip" 
is unusually strong, is the settled mode of flying 
salutation. Only the guards' heads were seen. 
The glass side of the raised roof of their com- 
partment just allows those in the Hole to see 
to their shoulders, and as head after head flew 
by they resembled rotatory toys or a fast phase 
of the rapidly changing magic-lantern slides. Do 
what we would, we could not realise the import- 
ance of the arrangement, or that the noisy mon- 
sters we controlled were charged with precious 
human lives. Waller was simply a trustworthy, 
steady, skilled labourer, who performed his al- 
lotted task without wavering ; who followed the 
mystic instructions it was his life's business to 
master, and who, in the monotonous discharge of 
mechanical labours, exercised discretion, watch- 
fulness, and care. But the longer we remained, 
and the more he endeavoured to explain the 
signals, the more maddening became the con- 
fusion. 

'' There, sir, you see that there arm ? "Well, 
that tells me" — (aside: '^Ah, there's the Brigh- 
ton down") — "tells me, you know" — (renewed 
aside : '^ Crystal Palace a-waitin' now, then") — 
puff — snort — bang — "tells me that all's clear" — 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 127 

(aside continued: " Battersea- bridge a -speaking 
now") — ^' and then by turnin' this here handle, 
now, you see, the diss has altered ; which means" 
— puff, snort, and bang — ''as I was a-sayin'." 
And so it went on, until, with repeated thanks, 
we said we should like to regain the platform, 
and think over what we had seen and heard. 

This was no easy matter, though the distance 
is not great. We could have made ourselves heard 
by shouting to the porter, picking his teeth as he 
leant on the wine-hamper at his side, but the mon- 
sters were constantly darting out, and it was only 
after missing several opportunities that the final 
'' Now, sir, you've nice time, if you start directly this 
next train goes by," was acted upon. A breathless 
rush, and what seemed a shockingly narrow es- 
cape of being run down and mangled, and we 
are by the toothpicking porter's side, who views 
us angrily, and asks "wot we're a-doin' of 
there?" The Hole looks less wonderful now. The 
trains and engines fly by it as before, but results 
only are seen, and the mechanism seems perfect. 
Still the questions arose, and have repeated them- 
selves without a satisfactory answer ever since, 
What if the Waller of the time being should sud- 
denly succumb ? What if eight hours at a stretch 
of work, the first eight minutes' contemplation of 
which had bewildered me, should be too much 



128 THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

for his powers ? What, in short, if the system 
broke down for one minute out of the many 
hundreds of minutes each man is consecutively 
employed ? 

Since the foregoing experience the subject 
has fascinated us, and we have pursued it fur- 
ther. We have not yet ascertained which line's 
" improvements" have made it exceed the Hole's 
for a rapid succession of trains, but we could 
point to several which are fully deserving of 
" honourable mention," if prizes were given for 
the greatest hazard run. Our ofi&cial friend at 
Victoria smiled when we said eight hours at a 
time seemed a long stretch for such arduous and 
absorbing work, and Waller evidently thought 
himself well treated in that particular. The 
maddening signals, too, are doubtless simplicity 
itself when understood, and it is only their num- 
ber and variety which make them seem perilous. 
The mechanism is admirable, the adaptation of 
means to an end deserving all praise, and the 
immunity from accident a point upon which those 
responsible have every right to lay stress. But 
let one link in the complex chain of cause and 
effect fail, let either the human or mechanical 
gear be out of order for an instant, and it seems 
certain that the Hole and kindred places on every 
line of railway in the kingdom would immediately 



THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 129 

become the scene of a tragedy, at which Society 
would stand aghast, and at which we should all 
cry as with one voice, Why was not this matter 
sifted earlier, and the obvious dangers it led up to 
prevented before ? 



PRISONEES' FRIENDS. 

On certain mornings, and at regular hours, small 
groups of woe-begone tearful girls and women may 
be seen in the Old Bailey, exchanging whispers 
with each other, or threading their way silently 
through the throng of meat salesmen. City police- 
men, ticket -porters, warehousemen, clerks, and 
shopboys, with which the busy place is full. They 
are the female friends of prisoners in Newgate, 
are of all ages, and beyond misery and shabbiness 
have little in common. The girls look prema- 
turely old and worn, and many of them have the 
unmistakable expression all hunted animals ob- 
tain ; while the older women may be divided into 
two classes, the callous and the crushed. There 
is a world of misery behind the defiant as well as 
the careworn faces one sees here. 

All pause at the steps leading up to the half- 
door, behind which the head and shoulders of a 
stalwart man in uniform are seen ; and after a 
moment's parley they are admitted within. The 



PEISONERS' FRIENDS. 131 

object of their journey is nearly accomplished now, 
for they are about to be allowed to see and con- 
verse with their husbands or lovers, their brothers 
or sons. These last are taking their prescribed 
amount of exercise in the prison -yards, and it 
is from behind one of the gratings looking on 
these that they are permitted to gaze from a pre- 
scribed distance upon, and exchange words with, 
their visitors. Between the prisoners and their 
friends runs a passage of about a yard wide, with 
another set of iron bars fencing it off from the 
place where the women stand; so that between 
the visitors and the visited are two stout barriers 
and sufficient space to preclude the possibility of 
articles being handed from one to the other. 
There are no seats. The prisoners are told to 
break out of the line of march, and permitted 
to advance to the grating of the yard in batches 
of three or four. The women who have come to 
see them stand exactly opposite, within the prison, 
and all have to press their faces close to the bars 
to make hearing possible. If a double set of wild- 
beast cages were planted in parallel lines, with 
the ironwork of each facing the others, but a yard 
or so apart ; if the lions and tigers were pushing 
their noses eagerly at the barriers, as if trying to 
escape ; and if a keeper or two were planted in 
the intervening space to watch, — a fair imitation 




132 prisoners' friends. 

of Newgate gaol during visiting liours would be 
obtained. 

Tlie gloomy place has been vastly altered and 
improved during the last few years. Those who 
only remember its old dark wards with their long 
line of oakum - pickers at work in the day-time ; 
who saw^ the condemned cell, say about the time 
Palmer occupied it, or when Bousfield endeavoured 
to commit suicide by throwing himself in its fire, 
would be amazed at the transformation effected 
in its interior. Light iron staircases lead to airy 
galleries, out of which the various cells open, and 
from the lower floor of wdiich the exercise-grounds 
are gained. The condemned cell differs little now 
from that appropriated to ordinary prisoners, save 
that there is accommodation for the warders, whose 
duty it is to watch the wretch sentenced to die, 
and who never leave him until he falls from the 
gallows -drop. 

But our present business is with the exercise- 
yards, and the interviews held between their bars. 
There is a ghastly resemblance between them and 
the playground of some strict school. Pacing 
regularly round, a fixed space being maintained 
between each man or boy, and the rate of walking 
in each case the same, proceed the prisoners. It 
is their wicked callous faces which make the 
school simile seem ghastly. Dangerous beasts 



PKISONEKS' FRIENDS. 133 

moving restlessly to and fro in a vast cage seems 
much nearer the mark, now that we are among 
them. Sordid common villany, theft, forgery, as- 
sault, burglary, cutting and wounding, and pass- 
ing bad money, make up the bulk of the offences 
with which the men before us are charged. A 
stout florid-faced man, who looks like a country 
farmer, and who is gesticulating violently through 
the bars to the cowed and crying little woman 
beyond them, is in on a charge of horse-stealing. 
He has been in prison before, and indeed was 
only out of it ten days when he was again appre- 
hended. A muscular powerful man, he looks as 
if he could carry off a horse bodily, if necessary ; 
and one wonders what the messages are he is 
impressing so earnestly on his wife. A warder 
is standing near enough to the twain to overhear 
their talk ; but we are assured no effort is made 
to eavesdrop, the presence of a prison official being 
insisted on simply as a precautionary measure. 
Next to the horse-stealer is a well-dressed young 
clerk, whose alleged offence is embezzlement. The 
elderly woman whose sobs reach us across the 
yard is his mother. She seems to be pleading 
earnestly, and he to be half-sullen, half-ashamed, 
but finally to yield to her entreaties. The third 
prisoner being visited is an older man, and the girl 
talking to him looks like his daughter. Their in- 



134 PKISONEES' FKIENDS. 

terview is far calmer than those of the other two, 
and seems indeed of a hiisiness character; for 
some clean linen has heen brought, and the man 
is actually talking of the weather as we pass by — 
a proceeding which we thought a feint, but which, 
as we were reminded, was natural enough. 

The three-quarters of an hour allotted to each 
interview is doubtless a very precious time. It 
can only be had on particular days, and the 
strongest wish of those concerned must be to 
compress as many questions and answers into it 
as possible. Fancy the painful excitement with 
which a man about to be tried for some serious 
crime must look forward to his promised talk 
with those whom he can trust to act for him out- 
side. The anxious thoughts, the doubts, the 
fears, the hopes which agitate him in the solitude 
of his cell are all to bear fruit in the momentous 
conversation he is permitted to hold. The chances 
of the impending trial, his fate if convicted, the 
means to be raised for his defence, and the effect 
upon those dependent on him of his present state, 
have to be eagerly canvassed; and it is all im- 
portant that not a moment should be lost. But 
this very eagerness defeats itself. Just as it often 
happens, that when people meet after a long 
absence, and for a limited time, they fail to recall 
half the topics in which they are vitally inter- 



135 

ested, and on which they are anxious to compare 
notes, so with the imprisoned men before us and 
their friends. 

In the other yards we visited, men and women 
were absolutely staring at each other through the 
bars in silence, though the latter had come on 
purpose to talk, and the former would be shut up 
again in a quarter of an hour. In some cases it 
may have been the dumbness of despair which 
made them tongue - tied ; but many seemed so 
nervously anxious to express all they had to say, 
that they were unable to arrange their ideas 
sufficiently to give them articulate shape. Some 
of the women treated the whole affair lightly, 
smirked at the warders, and looked boldly round ; 
but these w^ere exceptions. The rule, both in 
those waiting and those in communication with 
their male friends, was absolute dejection. 

Two other kinds of accommodation are pro- 
vided for special visitors, both similar in char- 
acter. The first is an enclosed closet in the 
centre of the principal corridor, and is for the 
attorneys ; the second is for the prisoners who are 
Roman Catholics, and who are visited by their 
priest. Both have glass sides and roof, and realise 
^'the light closets," upon which Clarissa laid such 
stress when describing the lodgings she had been 
entrapped into by Lovelace. The advice to little 



136 PRISONEES' FRIENDS. 

cliildren, "to be seen but not beard," is rigidly 
enforced upon all people inside these two places. 
Tliey live for tlie time being literally in a glass- 
house, and every movement can be seen from 
almost any portion of the chamber or corridor in 
which they stand. Both places are empty during 
our stay, the only visitors being the women we have 
seen pressing against the iron bars. It is easy to 
fill up their vacancy, however ; and all but impos- 
sible not to realise the scenes which take place in 
the attorneys' box, as well as the priests'. There are 
seats here, and a resting-place for papers. It is, 
indeed, a small office under a glass case, and swept 
and garnished for the next tenants. The futile 
attempts at deceit, the half confessions, the miser- 
able equivocations as to the extent and circum- 
stances of guilt, on the one hand ; the calm business 
tone, the remonstrances on the suicidal folly of 
concealment, the penetrating questions, the prac- 
tised art with which the truth is wormed out, and 
the astute assurances of help from the professional 
advisers, on the other, this place has heard ! If 
glass walls have ears like their neighbours of stone 
and brick, what strange stories could this little 
cramped cage reveal ! 

There are more women in the porter's lodge, 
as we leave, tearful and miserable as the rest, and 
waiting their turn for interviews. They, too, will 



PEISONEES' FRIENDS. 137 

be conducted to the iron barriers, and utter tlieir 
broken conversation across the dismal intervening 
space. The prison of Newgate is so obviously well 
managed; and the comforts — we had almost written 
the luxuries — of its inmates are so carefully se- 
cured, that its authorities have doubtless sufficient 
reasons for the rules under which the visits of 
prisoners' friends may be paid and received. 
Still, a vast majority of the inmates are "remand 
cases ;" and as they are all sent elsewhere as soon 
as possible after conviction, it is difficult to re- 
press a wish that some less -restricted mode of 
communication could be allowed. Although many 
of the evil faces we saw marching round were old 
prison hands, we presume that the law holds them 
innocent of the particular offences they are charged 
with until it finds them guilty. Again, it must 
occasionally happen that guiltless persons who 
have been committed for trial are detained here, 
and there is something repulsive in the absolutely 
penal character of the reception they have in each 
case to sjive their friends. 



COGEKS. 

A LONG low room like the saloon of a large steamer. 
Wainscot dimmed, and ornaments tarnished by 
tobacco-smoke, and the lingering dews of steam- 
ing compounds. A room with large niches at 
each end, like shrines for full-grown saints, one 
niche containing ''My Grand" in a framework of 
shabby gold, the other "My Grand's Deputy" in 
a bordering more substantial. My Grand is not 
a piano, but a human instrument of many keys, 
to whom his deputy acts as pitchfork ; not merely 
in tuning-power, but as a record of the versatility 
and extensive range of his chief's play. More 
than one hundred listeners are waiting patiently 
for My Grand's utterances this Saturday night, 
and are whiling away the time philosophically 
with refreshments and tobacco. The narrow 
tables of the long room are filled with students 
and performers, and quite a little crowd is congre- 
gated at the door and in a room adjacent until 
places can be found for them in the presence- 
chamber. " Established 1755" is inscribed on 



COGERS. 139 

the ornamental signboard above us, and " Insti- 
tuted 1756" on another signboard near. Dingy 
portraits of departed Grands and deputies decorate 
the walls, and the staidly convivial people about 
us are the traditional representatives of oratorial 
champions of a century ago. 

We are visiting the Ancient Society of Cogers, 
whose presiding spirit is uniformly addressed as 
'^My Grand," and whose deputy or secretary com- 
mences the proceedings by reading the minutes of 
the latest discussion, and then retreating behind 
a newspaper, as if to abstract himself, like some 
lofty spirit from the petty hum and strife of mor- 
tals. But first let us make a humiliating confes- 
sion. We had up to this night been guilty of 
grave injustice to this venerable society. To 
our darkened understanding^ " Cooler" had been 
" Codger," and we had taken a grave and com- 
plimentary title for a stroke of facetious and 
corrupt slang. 

" What ! Origin of the name Codger, Old Cod- 
ger, sir!" said the landlord, aghast, during our pre- 
liminary visit of inquiry. '' Call it ' Coger' " (mak- 
ing his mouth like a small cart-wheel) — ''call it 
' Coger,' if yoit please, for it comes from ' cogitate,' 
and signifies ' Thoughtful Men.' The Cogers, sir, 
have always been calm and deliberative politicians. 
The great John Wilkes was a Coger, sir" (this in 



140 COGERS. 

a conyincing tone, as if further testimony to calm- 
ness would be absurd); "and there's first-rate 
speeches here — young barristers from the Temple, 
and a great many literary men, writers in the 
newspapers, and gentlemen who take an interest 
in public affairs. You've perhaps heard of Ser- 
geant Thrust — a Coger, sir, in his youth ; so was 
the late Lord Macgregor and the present Judge 
Owlet ; and though the speaking varies, of course, 
you may alius count upon hearing some that's 
first class, and if you wouldn't mind remembering 
that it's Coger, not Codger, and means ' Thought- 
ful Men,' I'm sure the gentlemen would be happy 
to see you, and perhaps to hear you speak. There 
is no charge for admission, and visitors may come 
in without being introduced. It's just a public 
room with a society meeting in it. And everyone 
present is permitted to take part in the evening's 
discussion ; but if a member wishes to speak, of 
course he takes precedence over a stranger. The 
niches, as you call 'em, sir, are alcoves for the 
Grand and the Vice-Grrand to sit in ; and these 
two Grands are, with the secretary, elected every 
14th June, between ten and eleven at night, by 
show of hands among the members. This has 
been the way, sir, ever since 1755, when Mr. 
Daniel Mason founded the society, and it has 
prospered wonderfully and done a deal of good. 



COGEKS. 141 

Those portraits are of gentlemen who used to speak 
here. That dingy one with the dim eyes was a 
great speaker." 

On the following Saturday we make up a small 
party at a West-end club, and, proceeding east- 
ward, are in due .course seated in the long low 
room. Punctually at nine My Grand opens the 
proceedings amid profound silence. The deputy 
buries himself in his newspaper, and maintains 
as profound a calm as the Speaker "in another 
place." I have seen the parliamentary functionary 
open the arms of his massive state chair, which 
have "practicable" lids, and, taking out writing- 
materials, scribble private letters on his knee dur- 
ing the long and dull debates, and have smiled at 
the straits to which the first commoner in England 
has been reduced. My Grand's deputy imitates 
the Speaker in his profound abstraction, while 
My Grand himself pours out an even flood of 
rhetoric. 

" The events of the week" form the subject 
of discussion, and the orator opens the ball by an 
epitome of the newspaper intelligence of the last 
seven days. The digest of an average weekly news- 
paper is fairly comprehensive, but My Grand exceeds 
this in versatility and length. Giving running com- 
ments as he goes, he passes from Bethnal-green 
and the poor-laws to Italy and the Pope; from 



142 COGEES. 

the last phase of Fenianism to the natural perfidy 
of Napoleon ; from the decisions of the police- 
magistrates of London to King Theodore's victims 
in Abyssinia. My Grand is sarcastic on " the 
hopeless dulness of the middle-class intellect ;" 
and when complimentary to the charity and per- 
sonal usefulness of Eoman-Catholic priests, it is 
as an honourable opponent who pats a vanquished 
enemy on the back. He is satirical again upon 
the enormous stupidity of governments in general, 
and the transcendent ignorance and fatuity of the 
British Government in particular. He denounces 
Fenianism, pities distress, sympathises with mis- 
fortune, approves right, and denunciates wrong ; 
while the Thoughtful Men about him sip their 
glasses gravely, emit huge columns of smoke, and 
give meditative grunts of approval or dissent. 
Perfect order is preserved. 

The Speaker or deputy, who seems to know 
all about it, rolls silently in his chair : he is a fat 
dark man, with a small and rather sleepy eye, 
such as we have seen come to the surface and wink 
lazily at the fashionable people clustered round a 
certain tank in the Zoological Gardens. He re- 
folds his newspaper from time to time, until deep 
in the advertisements. The waiters silently re- 
move empty tumblers and tankards, and replace 
them full. 



COGEES. 143 

Meanwhile My Grand commands profound atten- 
tion from the room, and a neighbour, who afterwards 
proved a perfect Boanerges in debate, whispered 
to us concerning his vast attainments and high 
literary position. This chieftain of the Thought- 
ful Men is, we learn, the leading contributor to 
a newspaper of large circulation, and, under his 
signature of "Locksley Hall," rouses the sons of 
toil to a sense of the dignity and rights of labour, 
and exposes the profligacy and corruption of the 
rich to the extent of a column and a quarter every 
week. A shrewd hard-headed man of business, 
with a perfect knowledge of what he had to do, 
and with a humorous twinkle of the eye. My 
Grand went steadily through his work, and gave 
the Thoughtful Men a complete epitome of the 
week's intelligence. 

It seemed clear that the Cogers had either not 
read the newspapers, or liked to be told what they 
already knew. They listened with every token of 
interest to facts which had been published for 
days, and it seemed difficult to understand how a 
debate could be carried on when the text admitted 
so little dispute. But we sadly underrated the 
capacity of the orators about us. The sound of 
My Grand's last sentence had not died out, when 
a fresh-coloured, rather aristocratic-looking elderly 
man, whose white hair was carefully combed and 



144 COGERS. 

smoothed, and whose appearance and manner sug- 
gested an arena differing widely from the one he 
waged battle in now, claimed the attention of the 
Thoughtful ones. 

Addressing "Mee Grand" in the rich and 
unctuous tones which a Scotchman and English- 
man might try for in vain, this orator proceeded, 
with every profession of respect, to contradict 
most of the chief's statements, to ridicule his 
logic, and to compliment him with much irony 
on his overwhelming goodness to an institution 
" to which I have the honour to belong. Full of 
that hard northern logic" (much emphasis on 
" northern," which was warmly accepted as a 
hit by the room) — ''that hard northern logic 
which demonstrates everything to its own satis- 
faction ; abounding in that talent which makes 
you, sir, a leader in politics, a guide in theology, 
and generally an instructor of the people ; yet 
even you, sir, are perhaps, if I may say so, some- 
what deficient in the lighter graces of pathos and 
humour. Your speech, sir, has commanded the 
attention of this room. Its close accuracy of style, 
its exactitude of expression, its consistent argu- 
ment, and its generally transcendent ability, will 
exercise, I doubt not, an influence which will 
extend far beyond this chamber, filled as this 
chamber is by gentlemen of intellect and educa- 



COGERS. 145 

tion, men of the time, who both think and feel, 
and who make their feelings and their thoughts 
felt by others. Still, sir," and the orator smiles 
the smile of ineffable superiority, '^grateful as the 
members of the institution you have so kindly 
alluded to ought to be for your countenance 
and patronage, it needed not" (turning to the 
Thoughtful Men generally with a sarcastic smile) 
— "it needed not even Mee Grand's encomiums 
to endear this institution to its people, and to 
strengthen their belief in its efficacy in time of 
trouble, its power to help, to relieve, and to as- 
suage. No, Mee Grand, an authoritee whose 
dictum even you will accept without dispute — 
mee Lord Macaulee — that great historian whose 
undying page records those struggles and trials 
of constitutionalism in which the Cogers have 
borne no mean part — mee Lord Macaulee men- 
tions, with a respect and reverence not exceeded 
by Mee Grand's utterances of to-night " (more 
smiles of mock humility to the room), " that great 
association which claims me as an unworthy son. 
We could therefore have dispensed with the re- 
cognition given us by Mee Grand ; we could afford 
to wait our time until the nations of the earth 
are fused by one common wish for each other's 
benefit, when the principles of Cogerism are s|)read 
over the civilised world, when justice reigns su- 

L 



146 



COGERS. 



preme, and loving - kindness takes the place of 
jealousy and liate." 

We looked round the room while these fervid 
words were being triumphantly rolled forth, and 
were struck with the calm impassiveness of the 
listeners. There seemed to be no feeling of par- 
tisanship either for the speaker or My Grand. 
Once, when the former was more than usually 
emphatic in his denunciations, a tall pale man, 
with a Shakespeare forehead, rose suddenly with 
a determined air, as if about to fiercely interrupt ; 
but he only wanted to catch the waiter's eye, 
and this done, he pointed to his empty glass, 
and remarked, in a stage whisper, " With- 
out sugar, as before." However strongly these 
Thoughtful people may have felt, they made no 
sign, and it was obvious that the discipline of 
the society is fairly and regularly enforced, and 
that, if its debates effect no other good, they 
foster a habit of self-control. It was equally ob- 
vious that the society has a profound belief in 
its own power. The whole tenor of the debates 
led us to assume that the eye of Europe was upon 
us. If a Coger went wrong in argument, or if a 
mis-statement were allowed to pass uncorrected 
in such an assembly as this, the consequences 
would, it was evident, be terrible to the world at 
large and to generations still unborn. 



COGEBS. 147 

In the course of tlie evening the Cogers de- 
clared that the East-end distress would be a thing 
of the past, if their own specific for pauperism 
were adopted. They also held a strong opinion 
that the metropolitan police-arrangements should 
be efficient, instead of unsatisfactory, and laid 
down a clear and intelligible theory on the sub- 
ject. As for the government, '' the big-wigs," 
the secretaries of state, their door-keepers, their 
flunkeys, their officials, their ways, their deeds, 
their talk, they were all nowhere. The great 
difficulty to mere outsiders like ourselves was the 
impossibility of holding two diametrically oppo- 
site opinions at the same time. What one elo- 
quent Coger had made clear as daylight, another 
Coger, with equal gifts of speech, showed us to 
be mere hollow rodomontade. As soon as the 
sentiments first named had sunk into our souls 
and become incorporated with our intellectual 
being, presto ! another set of sentiments were 
hurled at us with so much precision and force 
as to leave us prostrate and bemuddled. Thus, 
according to some Cogers, Ireland was unhappy, 
not for the reasons given by other Cogers, but 
from causes familiar to the Coger speaking now; 
and so on throughout the subjects dealt with. 

A sub-spicing of personality lent flavour to the 
proceedings, and there could not be a doubt that 



148 COGERS. 

eacli individual Coger had the keenest delight in 
hearing himself speak. We will go further, and say 
that the speeches were very much ahove the aver- 
age of those served out by many British senators 
to their constituents, and that some of them con- 
tained passages of true eloquence, overlaid and 
spoilt, it may be, by verbosity, but appealing di- 
rectly to those addressed, and showing a fair com- 
prehension of the subject dealt with. To say that 
no one was convinced by his neighbour's reason- 
ing is but to repeat the stale sarcasm of the 
government-whip, who never, in all his experi- 
ence, knew a speech, however powerful, change a 
single vote on the division- list. There were pre- 
judiced speeches, and a few grossly ignorant 
speeches ; there were rather rabid speeches, 
and speeches which were self - contradictor}^ 
But the staple of the evening's entertainment 
was healthy and sound. There was a rough- 
and - ready, cut - and - thrust style about many 
of the remarks which savoured of the platform, 
and would be invaluable on the hustings, and a 
dogmatism which would have done credit to a 
county bench. 

In no case did a speaker flag for lack of 
words. There was none of that painful stam- 
mering, that morbid affection of the throat, that 
restless shifting from leg to leg, that nervous 



COGERS. 149 

fidgetiness of hands and buttons, that deliberate 
dying out from inanition, which distinguish the 
oratory of so many English gentlemen. What 
the Cogers have to say, they say out like men. 
The ideas may be sometimes feeble, but the lan- 
guage never is ; aspirates may be occasionally 
dropped, but the thread of the discourse is always 
held. We have heard much oratory in our 
time, and have been often present at gather- 
ings of influential people from whom a brief 
speech has been necessary — a few words to 
an expectant tenantry, an improvised address to 
the school-children of a parish, a resolution to 
be brought forward at a public meeting, or the 
proposal of a friend's health at a local dinner ; 
and it has too often happened that the English 
language has suffered terribly at their hands. 

Why should this be ? It is no disparagement 
to the Cogers to say that the bulk of them have 
not had a tithe of the educational advantages en- 
joyed by the people we name. The wooden pencil 
and round-topped scissors peeping from the left 
side waistcoat-pocket of the fiery young Liberal 
who has just sat down proclaim him a draper's 
assistant ; the ponderous knuckles and creased 
and rather dirty hands of the listener in hob- 
nails, together with his well-worn corduroys and 
flannels, show that his " 'ear, 'ear !" (followed by 



150 COGERS. 

a relishing wliisper to a neighbour — '^ That's 
right, ain't it?") proceeds from a man engaged 
on manual labour; and we judge by the dress, 
demeanour, and appearance of the foxy little 
person who came in without his hat, and who 
throughout the evening moves upon his chair as 
if ready to burst forth with indignant interrup- 
tion, but who, when his turn comes, speaks with 
moderation and good sense, that he is a master- 
tradesman in the neighbourhood. As for the 
young barristers and the literary gentlemen, we 
are bound to say that there was nothing to dis- 
tinguish their oratory from that of the rest of 
the room. Indeed, all the members of the latter 
class were pointed out to us as so extremely emi- 
ment that they rather disappointed our expecta- 
tions. But even including these gentlemen in 
our estimate, there is nothing to show that they 
are not, like the rest of the room, self-taught 
orators, and that the fluency possessed by the 
Cogers might not be learnt in the schools. 

It has been well said, '' Everybody improvises 
when he talks." But the silence of an auditory, 
when once a speaker perceives it, produces a very 
contrary effect to the interruption of conversation. 
" All eyes being fixed on him, he is embarrassed, 
he stammers, and at length becomes dumb; but 
this is not a defect of genius, it is merely a want 



COGERS. 151 

of self-possession. He is a weak man ; he is not 
master of his palpitating heart ; he has lost his 
self-possession; his calm judgment has abandoned 
him ; hence he sees nothing that he ought to see ; 
he can compare nothing ; he has lost the standard 
by which he ought to measure himself and others ; 
he has lost genius, because he has lost the balance 
of judgment. Hence the first rule of impro- 
visation, acquire the mastership of your own 
feelings." Mr. Lowe's recommendation to the 
middle-classes to study the English language cul- 
minated in the assertion, that he had found the 
power of speaking that language with precision 
and force to be the most useful of his accomplish- 
ments. 

If the ruling spirits at Cogers' Academy can 
turn out a fluent speaker in a few months, it is 
surely to be regretted that more of our schools do 
not teach their pupils the art of speaking in public 
without breaking down ? There are few more 
lamentable spectacles than that presented by a 
gentleman of well-trained mind and varied know- 
ledge stammering feebly, and retiring ignomini- 
ously, before a handful of people who are immea- 
surably his inferiors in all that pertains to mental 
discipline and education. Their charitable eager- 
ness to cheer him whenever a lame and flounder- 
ing sentence is brought to an impotent conclusion 



152 COGEES. 

is positively insulting. The applause when he 
sits down, the hand-clapping and the foot-stamp- 
ing, fill him with shame ; for he knows himself 
to have talked nonsense, and to have talked non- 
sense cumbrously. " Men are never so likely to 
settle a question rightly," says Macaulay, ''as 
wiien they discuss it freely;" and though an older 
writer cynically tells us that as " we have two 
ears, and but one tongue, that we may hear much 
and talk little," even he could give no good reason 
why we should not talk that little well. What the 
Cogers can do is of course within the reach of 
every schoolmaster; and the wise man who suc- 
ceeds in imparting the art of speaking our lan- 
guage with, as the old grammars say, "elegance 
and propriety," will confer a boon on England. 

We left the hall vrhile a gentleman was con- 
victing, entirely to his own satisfaction, a pre- 
vious speaker of ignorance ; our friend, the 
landlord, meeting us with the courteous hope 
that we " had been interested, though the speak- 
ing ain't been nothin' to - night to what it is 
sometimes." The landlord regards the Cogers 
affectionately as his adopted children, but rather 
startles us by giving, " I won't have none of it 
here," as his mode of checking a debate when free- 
dom degenerates into license. It appears that the 
ardent liberalism of some advanced Cogers has 



COGERS. 153 

occasionally led to language which a feeble-minded 
magistrate might disapprove, and it is perhaps with 
an ulterior eye on licensing-day that mine host 
constitutes himself the unseen arbiter of the limits 
of debate. But, however outspoken and revolu- 
tionary the bolder Coger spirits may occasion- 
ally be, the ancient society has a comfortable 
respect for order and propriety, and maintains, 
as its rules and our experience testify, a self- 
respect and self-restraint which might be imitated 
with advantage in many more pretentious assem- 
blies. 



SATURDAY-NIGHT IN A PAWNBROKER'S 
SHOP. 

The Act of Parliament compelling pawnbrokers 
to keep open until 11 p.m. on Saturdays operates 
with varying effect in different London neighbour- 
hoods. Here, it is a hardship to be called upon 
to burn gas and keep up the semblance of work 
long after its reality has departed ; there, another 
hour's grace is taken, and the crowded rush goes 
on unintermittently until midnight. To the bulk 
of West-end pawnbrokers, Saturday-night brings 
no special duty. Watches, rings, timepieces, pic- 
tures, plate, or nick-nacks, are as likely to re- 
main undisturbed by their owners during that 
evening as on any other throughout the week, 
while the sudden pecuniary needs of customers 
are neither more nor less pressing than at other 
times. The ordinary routine of their business 
goes on therefore undisturbed ; and were it not 
for the Act just cited, many shops now necessarily 
open until 11 would close at their usual hour. 
But the pawnbroker in an essentially low neigh- 
bourhood has to compress into a Saturday evening 
as many business transactions as in the whole 



SATUED AY-NIGHT IN A PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 155 

week besides. And these operations are almost 
uniform in their character. He has neither time 
to attend to sales over the counter, nor oppor- 
tunity for lending money upon goods. Giving out 
pledges, receiving the money lent upon them, and 
calculating and claiming the interest due, occupies 
the entire night, keeps his shop full to overflow- 
ing, and his staff of assistants incessantly en- 
gaged. 

One Saturday evening we took up our station 
behind the counter of a pawnbroker's shop in one 
of the lowest neighbourhoods in London, and had 
ample facilities afforded us for observing the rou- 
tine of its business, the class of people who are 
its chief customers, the nature of their dealings, 
the sums they had borrowed, and the interest- 
money they paid. Situate in a narrow flaring 
thoroughfare, and imbedded in a complex web of 
hemp-factories, tallow-melting establishments, hat- 
manufactories, and a series of densely-populated 
colonies of bricklayers' labourers, waterside-men, 
shirt-makers, sempstresses, and carmen, this esta- 
blishment may be taken as a fair type of others of 
its class ; while in the number of its small opera- 
tions, and the variety of its customers, it is pro- 
bably among the most noteworthy in London. It 
procures from an adjacent tobacconist's, and dis- 
poses of during every week, from 1501. to 2001. in 



156 SATURDAY-NIGHT 

halfpence and threepenny and fourpenny pieces. 
More than 2000 pledges are redeemed there each 
Saturday-night throughout the year, the sum lent 
on each rano-ino- from one shillina,- and their aver- 
age being a little over four shillings each. Thus, 
the week before our visit, the Saturday's returns 
showed that 2100 pledges were taken out by their 
owners, and a total of 418L paid for them, be- 
sides some 111. for interest; and during the hours 
we spent behind the counter, the rapid rate at 
which small bundles were handed over it, and 
the kaleidoscope -like quickness with which one 
set of eager struggling applicants made way for 
another, during what was spoken of as "a com- 
paratively slack night," through so many of the 
poor Irish being away in the hop-districts, gave 
convincing proof of the all-engrossing, continuous 
business carried on. 

We have seen, moreover, that the entire 
house is crammed with articles pledged. Bed- 
rooms, attics, lofts, staircases, lumber - closets, 
and landing-places are converted into warerooms 
for small parcels with tickets af&xed. The 
visitor knocks his head against bundles of 
mortgaged goods, finds it impossible to avoid 
treading on them, sees them stacked above and 
below, to the right and left of him ; and after 
being courteously conducted through a good-sized 



IN A PAWNBKOKEE's SHOP. 157 

house, finds the pledges to have completely in- 
vaded, and all but edged out, its dwelling accom- 
modation. Floor after floor of open shelves, di- 
vided into huge pigeon-holes, running from ground 
to ceiling, and so arranged that there is just room 
to walk between each, are seen in uniform array. 
Each division is stacked according to the nature 
of the article and the sum lent on it. Thus, the 
eastern corner of one wall is crammed with bun- 
dles of " two-shilling gowns," neatly folded, and 
looking rather like large rolly-poly puddings still 
in their cloths. The next compartments have 
gowns on which a trifle more has been lent ; and 
so on to the end. Trousers, shawls, coats, over- 
coats, petticoats, shirts, and shifts, are similarly 
arranged and classified, while in the centre of the 
wall an opening communicates with the shop be- 
low. The shoot contained in this opening is never 
idle, and the bell calling attention to it is seldom 
still. Four youths are busily engaged in receiving 
the tickets and looking out and sending down the 
parcels to which they refer. As there are altoge- 
ther some 10,000 to 12,000 separate parcels lodged 
as we have described, the ease with which each is 
found, and the short time elapsing between the 
borrower's application for his goods and their de- 
livery, are no mean tribute to the system of organ- 
isation. 



158 SATUEDAY-NIGHT 

An inspection of the trade-books of disburse- 
ment and receipt showed the net gains on what 
is commonly called "a low business" to be less 
than is ordinarily supposed. The immense num- 
ber of transactions involves the necessity of keep- 
ing up a numerous and expert staff of assistants, 
and the salaries paid them form an important 
item in annual outlay. Here, for example, there 
are five men arduously engaged behind the coun- 
ter, who alternately ring the shoot-bell, call up 
the opening, shout "Mrs. Brown, 3!" ''Name 
of Johnson — shift and a pair of boots." "Any- 
one here of the name of Jones ?" and so on, to 
the customers waiting, who clap down the bun- 
dles, and estimate and receive the money due on 
them with great rapidity. Two of these active 
busy shopmen receive 751., one 601., one 40Z., and 
one 301. per annum. The smallest of the urchins 
upstairs has 101. a-year, while his bigger brethren 
have from 101. to 18L a-year each. As all these 
people are provided with board and lodging in ad- 
dition to their pay, it will be readily seen that a 
vast amount of "low trade," and the consequent 
necessity of maintaining nine able-bodied assis- 
tants, is not, from a purely tradesmanlike point 
of view, an unmixed good. The capital required 
for such a business as we are describing is about 
7000Z.; the general expenses were put to us at 1200L 



IN A PAWNBEOKER's SHOP. 159 

a-year; and the trade-incomings at a far less sum 
than the aspect of the crowded shop seemed to 
indicate. It is right to add, that the figures given 
were strictly borne out by the books. Taking 
four months in the present year haphazard from 
the journal of disbursements, we found the out- 
lay in each to have been respectively 1351., SOL, 
1201. , and 791. This total of 414Z. gives an aver- 
age of 103Z. per month, or about the sum per 
annum just named. The receipts per week for 
interest and ticket-money averaged from 24Z. to 
S5L; thus corroborating in similar fashion the 
annual sum mentioned. 

About six years since, an important altera- 
tion was made in pawnbroking law. Before that 
time, when sums of less than 5s. were lent, no 
charge for the ticket could be made. But it was 
then settled that one halfpenny should be levied 
by the pawnbroker upon tickets for all such small 
amounts ; and, in the instance before us, this 
concession alone makes a difference in income of 
some 1501. per annum to the shopkeeper. The 
pettiness of the transactions, and the shortness 
of the time for which the money is borrowed, 
amply show the relative importance of this extra 
charge, trivial though it seems. We analysed 
50 out of 2000 tickets on the Saturday in ques- 
tion, for articles which had been redeemed, tak- 



160 SATURDAY-NIGHT 

ing them at random, and witli the view of esti- 
mating how long the goods left with this parti- 
cular pawnbroker remained in his hands. In 
36 cases out of the 50 the tickets were not a 
month old, in 7 cases they were not a week, 
and the remaining 7 were all dated less than 
six months from the present time. It was not, 
therefore, surprising to find that, on one day, 
not a Saturday, while on the 137 articles re- 
deemed the money lent amounted to 22L 3s. del., 
the interest came to 11. 9s. 9d., and that the 
ticket-money, for sums under 5s. alone, at a half- 
penny each, amounted to no less than 16s. 3d. 
Before quitting this branch of the subject, it is 
impossible to avoid noting the amusing absence 
of mystery or reticence observed in the records 
of the business inspected. The expenditure-book 
lies open on a shelf behind the counter; the 
ledger for daily and weekly receipts is left with 
its brass clasp-lock unused, exposed to view in 
a room open to the entire household; and, as if 
this were not enough, the moneys received during 
the last two or three weeks are pencilled in the 
hand of the proprietor upon the postern of his 
kitchen-door. 

While these facts are being noted, and the 
warerooms and their pledges examined, the re- 
gular business of the evening is going on with 



IN A PAWNBEOKEB'S SHOP. 161 

unceasing vigour. The shoot-pulleys and ropes 
which creaked and grumbled with monotonous 
regularity; the downstairs bell ringing at un- 
certain intervals; and the rapid running to and 
fro of the boys with parcels and bundles in their 
hands — all spoke of the busy state of the shop 
below. From five in the afternoon, when we 
visited it first, to eleven at night, when we left 
it for the second time, the counter was crowded. 
Sometimes thirty, sometimes a hundred people 
were there at once ; and the appearance and at- 
mosphere of the entire place were not a little 
singular and exceptional. Festoons of new boots 
and shoes, of shirts and chemises, handkerchiefs 
and caps, are suspended by strings from the low 
ceiling and the wall behind the counter. A gaudy 
clock, with a coarse pictorial face, looks down 
upon the throng in front of it ; cheap sporting- 
pictures, framed and glazed, vaunt their own ex- 
cellence and proclaim their cheapness from the 
wall beyond; while the cased-in window, filled 
with a heterogeneous mass of articles of dress, 
timepieces, jewelry, watches, boots, and chimney- 
ornaments, speaks, no less than does the pile of 
many-coloured wraps and coats against which we 
lean, of the extent and variety of the pledges un- 
redeemed. Nothing is bought for stock here, and 
all the articles we see have- become the property 

M 



162 SATURDAY-NIGHT 

of their present owner through the time for their 
redemption having passed hy — a source of profit, 
by the way, not included in the returns quoted. 
With the exception of one futile attempt at bar- 
gaining for a shirt, no approach to a sale takes 
place during our visits. Quite ninety per cent of 
those at the counter are women and children, and 
the object of all seems to be to obtain their goods 
and get away as rapidly as possible. The per- 
spiring countermen, who are busily working in 
a close miasma made up of gas, the effluvia of 
worn clothes, and human breath, are besieged on 
all sides. Sometimes they are addressed affec- 
tionately as " Dears ;" sometimes defiantly, as 
" You there !" and sometimes they are petulantly 
upbraided for the time the beldame speaking has 
been kept waiting for her pledge. 

Half the place is open shop, the other half is 
divided into little boxes, originally meant for pri- 
Tacy, but each of which is now crammed to reple- 
tion. Poverty in all its phases is represented. 
The young work-girl, whose bit of shabby finery 
has been here since Monday, takes it away with 
the certainty of bringing it back again when Sun- 
day has gone by. Shrewish-looking, slatternly 
women insist upon having their full complement 
of bundles, and decline paying for the dress, the 
trousers, and the bonnet, until the fourth pledge, 



IN A pawnbroker's SHOP. 163 

a pair of boots, is produced. Capless, bonnetless 
children, who, standing on tiptoe, strive in vain 
to bring their eyes on a level with the counter, 
have the ticket for their father's clothes handed 
over for them ; while now and then, at rare inter- 
vals, a working man may be discerned in the 
moving mass of faces, who takes out his garment 
for himself, paying the sum demanded with a 
business air bespeaking long usage and <3onse- 
quent acclimatisation. All this time one of the 
shopmen remains at the shoot, and the ringing 
of the bell to those above, and the shouts of 
^'Name of Blank, one parcel," ''Trousers and 
dress for Smith," go on with the regularity of 
'^ Make your game" at rouge et noir. 

Two things are especially worthy of remark. 
First, the demeanour of the sordid crowd, gin- 
sodden, tattered, and forlorn, as its component 
parts are, is rather jocund than otherwise — as if 
the circumstance of being able to take articles out 
of pawn more than condoned the original neces- 
sity of pledging them; and secondly, that with 
scarcely an exception the bundles were handed 
over, and the money and interest paid, without 
mention of the amount. The time for which the 
money had been borrowed, and the sort of sum, 
varied so little, and the details of the operation 
were so familiar, that conversation on either side 



164 SATURDAY-NIGHT IN A PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 

would have been, in the present clin, and push, 
and rattle of business, nothing but a waste of 
time. 

The gown or coat "in" for half-a-crown, or 
under, had 2s. GJcL paid for it ; that for 3s. had 
3s. Of fL ; that for 4s. to 5s. had a penny added 
to the sum ; and in the rare cases where 5s. was 
exceeded, the adding a halfpenny for every 2s. 6d. 
up to 2L was a process fully understood by people 
unaccustomed to let their goods remain longer 
than a month. The free gossip between the wo- 
men waiting, the full market-baskets on the arms 
of some of them, and the purely matter-of-fact 
demeanour of nearly all, confirmed the theory that 
a Saturday's-night's visit to the pawnbroker's is 
not much more out of the ordinary routine of life 
in the district we were in — full as it is of a poverty 
too deep for pretence, and which knows not what 
*' keeping up appearances" means — than is a like 
call on the butcher, or baker, or other indispens- 
able ministrant to its wants. 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

" Giv' herself airs she has, ever smce she got up 
in the world through 'aving her little girl put in 
the newspapers, which it offended her rarely, 
though she's got heef and red port-wine every 
day through it, all the same. What call was 
there to pick out her little girl indeed, and kick 
up a fuss about her making three gross o' match- 
boxes a-day, and she got a mother of her own ? 
Why, that child working there is younger than 
what she is, and ain't got no parents at all, and 
she'd make her six or seven gross a-day if she 
were put to it. Wot's three gross to make a fuss 
about, that's what I say ; and wot 'ave the news- 
papers got to do with it at all ?" 

We are in the' centre of a lucifer-box manufac- 
tory in Bethnal-green, and the speaker is indig- 
nant at popular sympathy having been roused for 
what she considers a very commonplace piece of 
business. That children should toil unceasingly 
from an age when they ought to be in their 
cradles, is to her one of the inevitable conditions 



166 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

of existence ; and tliougli unable to impugn its 
truthfulness, she condemns as mawkish a state- 
ment recently put forward by a local clergyman 
concerning the infant daughter of one of her 
neighbours and friends. 

Up a dark passage and a darker stair, — where 
the heavy balustrades and deep-set glassless win- 
dows speak of comforts long since fled, — and we 
are in two garrets, one opening into the other, 
and both thronged with labourers busily at work. 
We have passed huge blocks of wood on the first 
landing, of the size and shape of those strewn 
about shipwrights' shops and dockyards, and now 
walk into an atmosphere redolent of deal-shavings, 
sulphur, and dye. Boys and girls, some mere 
infants, others sturdy striplings, and all busily at 
work, are in every available corner, planing, stamp- 
ing, cutting-out, pasting, folding into box-shapes, 
and in other ways converting wood into the neat 
and slender cases w^e buy filled with lucifer- 
matches, at a halfpenny and a penny each. Two 
stout youths at the window are rapidly dashing 
off thin sections from a block of wood. Children 
pick these up as they fall, sort them, and hand 
them to other children, who ply machines and 
crease the slips into the folds requisite for con- 
verting them into boxes. This done, the master 
' workman, who is at once employer and fellow- 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 167 

labourer, clips their ends in magenta-coloured dye, 
and hands them to his wife in the adjoining garret. 
She sits at a long table, where girls of all ages 
paste on the paper coverings, bend the slips into 
shape, and turn the finished box upon the floor. 
Fingers and the paste -brush are alone used at 
this stage. 

. " Friday is our busiest day, because, you see, 
we send in on the Saturday to receive the week's 
money, and often have to make up a goodish 
quantity when there's a pressure. Me and the 
eight girls, you see, have turned out as many as 
ninety gross between Friday and Saturday morn- 
ing, no, they don't go away on the Friday 
night — that wouldn't do at all. They stay here, 
and work on, while I sit on the floor, and never 
get up or go to bed until I've tied all up in bun- 
dles of a gross each. Yes, it's hard work enough, 
but not fit to put in the newspapers," — a con- 
stantly recurring grievance this, — ''let alone make 
a stir about one little girl, when there's hundreds 
would do more work and is worse off than wot 
she is. Our regular hours for the boys you see 
in the other shop is eight to eight, which makes, 
with dinner and tea-time, about ten hours a-day. 
Here, in my room, they work according to pressure ; 
and pretty close we have to keep to it, there's no 
denying. What's the dye for? Well, it gives 



168 LUCIFEE-BOX MAKING. 

a finish to the boxes, and makes 'em look worth 
more money for the shops. The people we work 
for were the first to introduce it, and the boxes 
you see are the best of their kind. Threepence 
a gross we pay for making ; and as there's not 
more labour in these than the commoner sorts, it 
ain't so bad. One hundred and forty-four boxes 
folded, pasted, and shaped for threepence ? A}', 
and a good deal less too, I can tell you. Two- 
pence-farthing and twopence - halfpenny is the 
regular price for the cheaper sorts, you'll see, 
when you visit the houses where they're bein' 
made. My master and me ain't got no family of 
our own, so we call these girls and boys our chil- 
dren ; and though they've to work hard, they're 
well off compared to hundreds of others." 

" We never drink nothing but tea in working 
time," struck-in the male chief here; ^'but when 
work's over, I take my three, or perhaps my four, 
pints of beer, and enjoy 'em, I can tell you. Ee- 
form demonstration bill on the wall ? Well, I 
don't bother my head about politics ; but they 
sent the poster here, and I just stuck it where 
you see" (winking), " to help to keep the roof up. 
No, I didn't jine in it, not I. If I go away, there's 
thirty people loses a day's work, and that ain't the 
sort of reform they'd fancy, you may be sure." 

This match-box maker is a jovial aristocrat in 



LUCIFER-EOX MAKING. 169 

his way. A liale liealtliy-looking man of forty, 
he looks as ruddy and strong as if his days were 
spent in farming or at the sea - side. Besides 
making up boxes on the premises, he sends out 
the creased slips of wood and the paper labels to 
women and children who work at home; and acts, 
in short, as middle man between the dealer and 
the labourers. 

" About twopence a gross sticks to 'em when 
all's done," he says pleasantly, when asked as to 
his profits. A brazier full of coke stands in the 
centre of the garret where the women are at work, 
and a strong sulphureous odour permeates the 
place. '' We're obliged to keep it where it is, for 
drying, don't yer see? But the smell's bad at 
times, so we keep both windows open, and have 
lots of nice fresh air." We are in Bethnal-green, 
remember, with a view of the house-tops of Spital- 
fields, and are looking out on dingy broken roof- 
trees, smoke-dried pigeon-traps, dirt, and desola- 
tion. The " fresh air" has been eddying round 
stale fish-curing establishments and close confined 
homes, has apparently looked in at a gasworks, 
and burrowed among the district drains. Yet the 
people look tolerably well ; and as, according to 
our host's own estimate, he sometimes clears as 
much as ninety twopences, or fifteen shillings, in 
the twenty -four hours, he at least is comfortably off. 



170 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

The home-workers, who make up the materials 
he sends them, are a very different class. The 
head of the household may be a dock-labourer, or 
a street-hawker, or a dustman, or, as was the case 
at a home we visited later in the day, '' a hayband- 
gatherer" (that is, a man who lives by collecting 
the haybands thrown away at markets and stables, 
and selling them to chairmakers for stuffing). His 
earnings are precarious, and are never more than 
enough to pay the rent and provide a moiety of 
the family bread. The wife and children have to 
work or starve. Match - box making and bead- 
working are their regular employments ; but though 
the latter is paid for at a slightly higher rate, the 
demand for it varies with the fashion, while for 
the former there is a more regular and constant 
supply of work. 

Accompanied by an experienced district-visitor 
and a friend well acquainted with the locality, we 
proceed to visit a few of the " hundreds of children 
who do more work and are worse off" than the poor 
little infant whose case had been eloquently and 
successfully brought before the public a short time 
before. First, to a little sentry-box of a room up the 
back stairs of a crazy tenement hard by. Here, the 
figure huddled on the bed, with head bound up, 
is so ghastly and unlifelike, that we start back to 
avoid intruding upon what seems the chamber of 



LUCIFEB-BOX MAKING. 171 

death. Three children are standing at the table, 
and work on unremittingly. Heads are uplifted 
for a moment as our guide opens the door, but 
only to resume their steadfast gaze upon the paper, 
chips, and paste being deftly converted into boxes 
by the little hands. On being silently beckoned 
in, we find the mass of rags has assumed shape, 
and is a woman, but so weird and wan and hag- 
gard as to remind us of Haydon's picture of La- 
zarus in his grave-clothes. Swaying to and fro 
from sheer debility, and with dull heavy eyes, 
which wander purposelessly everywhere, the figure 
essays to speak, and with many a pant and sup- 
pressed groan, gives us her little history. 

" Bad pains in limbs, and chest so hard like, 
that I can't help the children as I ought, and they 
don't get on so fast in consequence. Wlien I'm on 
the ground, to pick up and sort as quickly as they 
can put together, we can, by never stopping, turn 
out our eight gross a-day. Twopence -halfpenny a 
gross is what we get, and find our own paste and 
string. Five farthings' -worth of flour, which is 
half-a-pound, will make enough paste for seven 
gross of boxes, if you're careful ; but there's waste 
now that I lay here, and I can't cut the labels 
even, though I keep the paper and scissors by my 
side" (showing them moaningly), '' to turn to di- 
rectly the pain leaves me for a little. We have to 



172 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

tie the boxes up in bundles after they're made, 
and the hemp for doing* this comes heavy out of 
what we earn. A penn'orth of hemp will tie up 
twenty-one gross of boxes, and then there's the 
sending of 'em home, which takes time and pre- 
vents work. Ah, it makes a terrible difference my 
not being on the ground; for the children often 
can't get on, and there's time and money lost." 

This speech is not given consecutively as writ- 
ten, but with constant stoppages for breath, and 
from pain, through all of which the three children 
go on methodically pasting down. Neither the 
unwonted presence of strangers nor their mother's 
suffering breaks this monotonous labour for a mo- 
ment. When spoken to, they reply in a listless 
fashion, as if talk were a profligate expenditure of 
time. 

Five different articles are used to make the 
match-box. Two slender shavings of wood, one 
each for its inner and outer part; one label of 
coloured paper for the half containing the luci- 
fers ; one printed label bearing the dealer's names 
for the outer box ; and a square piece of sand-paper 
to strike the matches on the bottom. The wood 
has been creased, by the machine-work we saw in 
the garret factory; the paper lies in sheets, like 
undivided postage -labels, upon the squalid bed; 
the sand-paper is on the floor in long strips of the 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 173 

width requisite to go lengthwise on the boxes, 'but 
requires snipping into pieces of the requisite width. 
The manipulation of this sand-paper is the most 
painful part of the work. The rough surface cuts 
the children's fingers, and leaves them raw and 
bleeding, much as if the cuticle were rubbed off 
with a file ; for each bit of sand-paper is smoothed 
and patted down by hand, and many hours of this 
work produce their inevitable effect. 

" Drying the boxes thoroughly, sir, is another 
trouble ; for we've to spread them out on the floor 
all night, and the wet paste makes the place 
damp ; and if the boxes ain't quite dry, they won't 
pay us for them when we send them in." 

It is needless to describe the place. A squalid 
little hole, where the bed takes up one-third of 
the flooring space ; a table, two chairs, half-a- 
dozen of the commonest utensils, and a few cheap 
pictures on the walls, make up the living, sleep- 
ing, and working home of this confirmed invalid 
and her three children. For bedding, are dis- 
coloured unexplainable rags ; athwart the bed, sus- 
pended from a string, hang fragments of clothes, 
the use of which can scarcely be distinguished. 
It is difficult to advance a step without crunching 
match-boxes under foot ; and when our party of 
three all stand inside the door, it is impossible to 
turn round or stir. The ages of the three girls 



174 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

seem to range from three or four to twelve, but 
this is a point on which guessing is hazardous, so 
wan and stunted are they. Elsewhere we put 
searching questions, and have truthful answers in 
return. But in the presence of the apparently 
dying figure on the bed this is impossible. There 
was such an obvious wish to do the honours of 
the miserable little home, and to give strangers 
the information they sought, that we listened 
patiently to the story told with so much difficulty 
and pain; but it would have been cruel to pro- 
long the trial, so on the poor speaker sinking 
back exhausted, we bid the little toilers good-day, 
and set out again upon our prescribed round. 

Let us say at once that this was the most 
painful visit made throughout the day. Poverty, 
dire, bitter, crushing, we saw in sad abundance ; 
invalids too ill to work, infants, with the business 
cares of men and women, acting as bread-winners 
for a family, were plentiful enough; lives where 
one long struggle with starvation, misery, and 
disease is the rule, were revealed ; but we never 
seemed to stand so nearly in the presence of 
Death as here. In the antithesis between the 
poor woman's state and her plaint concerning 
farthing's-worth of flour and hemp, and her in- 
ability to cut out labels, there was something in- 
expressibly shocking. 



LUCIFEE-BOX MAKING. 175 

A smiling brunette, wretchedly attired, but 
healthy and cheerful, is passing the door as we 
come out. On her arm she carries a bulky parcel 
of light goods. In a West-end thoroughfare she 
would be an apprentice carrying home fancy mil- 
linery — caps, bonnets, or what not. Here, her 
bundle consists of match-boxes, and match-boxes 
only. 

" Nine gross of 'em, sir, I'm just taking home, 
when I shall get the money and paper and ma- 
terial for making more. Make a good many a- 
day ? yes, sir, and could make more, only 
trade's dreadful slack, and there's such a lot at 
it; that's where it is. Well, I don't know the 
number of where I live, and that's the truth ; but 
it's the last house but one on the right, and glad 
to see you, Mrs. Jones" — a curtsey here to the 
district-visitor — '' as you allers know, ma'am, don't 
you?" 

All this, with a bright alacrity, an absence 
of fawning, or of making out a case for pity, very 
refreshing. 

Following our guide, we are soon in another 
interior devoted to the one calling. A larger room 
this, with more evidences of comfort, greater adorn- 
ment, and where the squalid air of bitter poverty 
is less apparent. 

" Mother is ill in bed in the corner, with pains 



176 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

in her limbs, and is hard of hearing as well, so we 
just get on the best w^e can without her. Four of 
us work, me and my two little . brothers and my 
sister" (the speaker is a good-looking girl of nine- 
teen, who smiles and dimples through her be- 
grimed face, as if to prove that innate cheerful- 
ness is more than a match for worldly ills) ; " and 
if we work very hard indeed, we can make our 
fourteen gross in a day. Well, of course, that 
means beginning at seven in the morning and 
sticking to it till ten at night ; but it ain't so bad 
considerin', you know, and there's many worse off 
than what we are, of course. Father's a sawyer, but 
his work's been very slack, and there's not much 
doing anywheres, so far as I know. Wouldn't it 
be better for me to go out to service ? Perhaps it 
would" (hesitation), " only I don't know much 
about a house, you see, only having been at home. 
Yes, I'd be willing to try ; and if girls are wanted, 
as you say, ma'am, and you could get me a place, 
I'd be very glad." 

The mother in bed in the corner moves rest- 
lessly, but takes no part in this conversation, and 
the children go on converting paper and wood into 
boxes unmoved. Here, however, all we see (for 
the sick mother covers her head with the bed- 
clothes) look well and hearty; and though, on 
being pressed, the fourteen gross turns out to be 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 177 

rather a tlieoretical than a practical standard of a 
day's work, the little labourers looked contented 
and comparatively happy. Portraits of Miss Adah 
Isaacs Menken, and of a huge turkey-cock, like 
an inflamed beadle, adorn the mantel-shelf; but 
match-boxes, formed and unformed, are the prin- 
cipal furniture of the room. 

Crossing the road, we are next in a little 
cellar, which is literally crammed. The husband 
is out, selling hearth- stones. A puny sickly 
infant is asleep on the bed ; the mother and 
married daughter, herself a mother, a little boy, 
and a neighbour, are cutting and pasting and 
shaping for dear life. There is wonderful uni- 
formity in the statistics furnished us. In this 
house they can, by sticking steadily at it, make 
eight gross of boxes a-day ; prices as before, 
twopence -halfpenny a gross. The extra trouble 
given by the labels being of thinner paper than 
usual, the difficulty of drying the work before 
sending in, owing to want of space, the dislike 
the sturdy urchin of ten has to Sunday-school, 
and the terrible decrease in the demand for 
hearth-stones, are all told cheerily and without 
a syllable of even implied murmuring. Here 
there is a slight variation in manufacture, for the 
dealers prescribe pink linings for their match- 
boxes, and this involves a sixth item for cutting 



178 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

out and fastening, and a proportionate expenditure 
of time. 

The working tinman's, a few doors lower down, 
is a completely different place. Here the whole 
house is occupied by one family; the wife helps 
the husband by soldering down his work, and 
the business of box-making is left to the chil- 
dren. The eldest girl, who looks twelve, and is 
sixteen, is the chief of the department. The 
youngest, who " will be three the 7th of next 
month," is an active member of the staff, and 
has worked regularly for more than a year. 

"Five shillings and sixpence we pay a-week 
for our house, and we've no call to complain of 
our landlady. The noise of my husband's trade 
made it difficult for us to keep in apartments, 
for it's hammer, hammer, hammer, much as you 
hear it now, all day long; so we've had to take 
this house, which suits us very well, all things 
considered. No, sir, I've never no time to help 
at box-making myself; but when I do get five 
minutes from the sawdering, I just tell 'em to 
allers put their best work in, and they'll never 
want a job, and they've as much as they can do. 
Twopence-halfpenny a gross is what we get, the 
regular price ; but then, you see, making 'em, as 
we do, with the inside part as perfect as t'other, 
it's just like two boxes in one ; or twenty-four 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 179 

dozen boxes, as you may say, for twopence-half- 
penny. It's littery work too, very littery, and our 
landlady didn't want us to do it at all, on account 
of fire ; but that, as we told her, wouldn't do 
nohow, if she wanted her rent regular ; so we're 
as careful as we can be. When I worked at 
the match-box trade myself, which was before I 
learnt sawdering, and when it was my only way 
of earning money, the round boxes used to be 
my sort. You'll remember them, I daresay. You 
could just get your two fingers into the round, 
and they paid fourpence a gross for making them. 
I'd be very glad if they'd come into fashion again, 
for I got pretty quick at it, and could turn out 
a gross in a hour, which weren't so very bad, 
and my girl there would soon pick it up, I know. 
It would be better for her to go out to service, 
I don't dispute that ; but she's very useful to us, 
you see, and we couldn't spare her easily. That 
other one, who's bin in the 'orspital twice, she'd 
be a better one to go out, for she likes fresh 
people, and isn't shy; but, however, ma'am, if 
you say you could get Annie a place at once, I'll 
talk it over with her father, and let you know. 
I don't want to stand in her way, not I, if she'd 
like to go. "We've four rooms in this house, sir, 
and, to tell you the truth, it ain't hardly enough, 
for we've seven children, though we've lost one, 



180 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

through a lady at Bow taking a fancy to her, 
and taking her off our hands. My hushand's work 
takes up -a lot of room, you see, let alone the 
match-making ; but, however, we're better off than 
a good many, and mustn't cry out. No, we'd 
no cholera here, sir. They had it very bad a few 
doors lower down ; but the gentleman from the 
Board of Health said our house was kept cleaner 
and more wholesome than many, and perhaps that 
helped to keep us free. He ordered them to put 
us dust-heaps up in the yard ; but. Lord ! they've 
done 'em so badly they ain't no use. Very good 
water-supply sir, now, since some other gentle- 
men came round and inquired into it, though 
our tap's out of order just at this time ; but, 
when it's right, we've as much water as we can 
use." 

Another home of one small room. Husband 
a dustman, out with his cart ; wife daily expect- 
ing an addition to the family ; little boys and 
girls all busily at work. 

' ' Fourpence each every time they fill a cart, 
the three of 'em, that's what dustman's pay is ; 
but then they often don't fill more than three 
carts a-day, sometimes much less, and that makes 
it shockin' uncertain." 

At every house we have visited there have 
been cheery allusions to a tea given on the pre- 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 181 

ceding Monday at the Bedford Institution to 
match-box makers under fourteen years of age. 
The quantity of cake eaten, and of tea drunk, 
has been a fertile topic for jocosity, and we have 
diplomatically availed ourselves of an obvious dis- 
position to connect our call with the treat en- 
joyed — with which, we regret to add, we had 
nothing whatever to do. Here a bright lad of 
ten, who blushed and grinned merrily over his 
pasting at the reminiscence, was on the point of 
losing the feast for want of a pair of trousers 
and a waistcoat to appear in, when, presto ! a kind 
gentleman sent him a shilling, with which the 
father purchased both, and in which the lad 
worked proudly now. 

" My husband's asthma has been a good deal 
better, thank you, ma'am, since he went into the 
workhouse infirmary ; but these cold winds tell 
upon him, and the dust-trade's bad for that com- 
plaint, you see." 

A whispered colloquy between my companions 
and the speaker concerning a certain " bag," which 
contains baby-linen, and is lent on application 
from an admirable institution close by, and but for 
which there would often be no provision for in- 
fants newly born, and we pass to a room a few 
streets off, where one young woman and a little 
girl are at work. The boxes here are for the 



182 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

Liverpool market, are more fragile, and less pro- 
fitable to make. 

" Twopence a gross is all we get, and tlie two 
of us can't make more than six gross a-day, do 
what we will," is cheerfully told us : the child 
continuing her work, and warning off some other 
children who peep in at the door, with a quaint 
wise look, which sits strangely on her pretty little 
face. "My husband's a hayband - gatherer for 
chair-stuf&ng, but he don't do very well at it, and 
this little girl ain't ours, but a niece of mine I'm 
bringing up." 

Another room in the same street, where the 
mistress is ill in bed in a sort of cupboard to the 
rear, where the husband is out hawking looking- 
glasses obtained on '' sale or return" from the 
manufacturers, and by means of which he earns 
six, seven, and sometimes eight shillings a-week. 
The children are taking boxes home, the fire is 
out, and as the invalid tells her ailments to the 
district-visitor, want of nourishment is as easily 
discernible in her feeble tremulous voice as if we 
had been told in so many words of her lack of 
food. 

These are a few of the cases we saw in a 
day's walk. The experience they give might have 
been multiplied indefinitely. Eight and left, in 
fi'ont and rear, of the border-line between Spital- 



LUCIFEB-BOX MAKING. 183 

fields and Bethnal-green upon wliich we stood, is 
a mass of helpless, hopeless poverty. Such 
work as we have seen is the means of life to 
thousands upon thousands of women and chil- 
dren. In one of the homes left undescribed, a 
baby of a year and ten months old was busily 
labouring away with its brothers and sisters, and 
contributing its quota to the earnings of the day. 
In White- street, a regular labour-market for boys 
and girls is held on Monday and Tuesday morning, 
from eight to ten a.m., and here children of all 
ages may be hired by the week or month. Do- 
mestic service is, however, so distasteful to these 
people, that, though there is a constant demand 
for servants here as elsewhere, there is more than 
the usual difficulty in obtaining them. 

In every case when a situation was suggested 
for the young women whom we saw box-making, 
the reply was evasive ; and a few months before our 
visit good and remunerative places were refused 
under the following circumstances. One Saturday 
a poor woman was visited at her home by some 
benevolent gentlemen who interested themselves 
in the sanitary arrangements of the district. The 
cholera was then at its height, and on calling on 
the same woman the next Monday, they found 
she had died, and had been buried, in the few 
hours which had intervened since they found her 



184 LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 

alive and well. She left a large family. Her 
three eldest girls were fit for service, and comfort- 
able places were offered them, and refused. Argu- 
ment and remonstrance were ineffectual, and pic- 
tures of the discomforts and laboriousness of 
match-box making were met by, "It's only just 
play for the fingers, sir." This is a fair ex- 
ample of the views and opinions of many of the 
girls we have seen. They accept their poverty 
bravely ; take gladly any help proffered ; but 
prefer the privations and misery of their pre- 
sent life to what they hold to be the restric- 
tions and drawbacks of domestic service. The 
married women are tied to their homes, and, 
spurred by stern hard necessity, the children take 
to work much as those in more favoured walks do 
to play. 

" The child I buried was only two years and 
five months, and he'd been at box-making a good 
six months," said the dustman's wife; " and they 
take to it as natural as sitting down to a meal." 

Not the least suggestive part of what we saw 
was the wholesome and positively jolly look of 
many of the boys and girls. There was, as we 
have endeavoured to show, abundant evidence of 
sickness and sorrow; there were plenty of wan 
faces and stunted frames ; but there were also 
many rosy-cheeked lads and lasses, who were chir- 



LUCIFER-BOX MAKING. 185 

ruping over their toil as merrily and as heartily 
as any plough-boy whistling for want of thought. 
When a wretched mother is accused of '' givin' 
herself airs" because her infant daughter's miser- 
able condition has become known, we seem to have 
in rough rude fashion the public opinion of this 
poverty -weighted place. That children should 
never see green fields or flowers, should never 
have a toy, never enjoy the innocent amusements 
appropriate to their age, is sad enough. Human 
nature, however, is so constituted, that harm- 
less fun and healthy laughter may be extracted 
from the most barren materials; and among 
the under-fed, over-worked, ill-clad women and 
children we visited were as bright eyes and as 
ready smiles, and at least as much honest, hearty, 
cheerful, helpful contentment as are found among 
their brothers and sisters who have not learnt 
sympathy through suffering, and to whom hunger 
and destitution have been things to read about, 
not taste. 



THE THAMES POLICE. 

Feom Chelsea-bridge to Barking-creek, a distance 
of seventeen miles, tLe river Thames is guarded 
by the Thames Police. To protect the property in 
ships, barges, and wharves, to keep the river clear 
of reputed thieves and suspected persons, to pre- 
vent crimps and the agents of low boarding-house 
keepers getting on board ships before they come 
to an anchorage, and to maintain a general super- 
vision over the river, are among its primary du- 
ties. Nor are these duties limited to the distance 
named; for at regatta time and at special aquatic 
festivals (as we saw at the Oxford and Harvard 
boat-race) detachments are told off and boats are 
despatched from the central station. 

The seventeen miles which properly constitute 
the Thames district has three stations, one on 
shore and two afloat, and is divided into three 
parts, the upper, middle, and lower. The upper 
division ranges from Chelsea to London-bridge, 
and has two regular duty boats and one boat for 



THE THAMES POLICE. 187 

supervision attached to it. The middle division 
extends from London-bridge to Greenwich, and 
has four duty boats and two for supervision ; 
while the lower division has Barking-creek for one 
extremity and Greenwich for the other, and has 
one duty boat and one for supervision. The other 
boats belonging to the Thames Police make up 
with the foregoing a total of sixteen, with a com- 
plement of three constables and one inspector to 
each. The entire staff upon which the protection 
of the river and waterside depends is startlingly 
small — i. e. one hundred and twelve, thus sub- 
divided : one superintendent, eight first-class in- 
spectors, seventeen second-class inspectors, and 
eighty-six constables. Out of this number, those 
stationed in the upper and middle districts are 
formed into two equal divisions, each division be- 
ing subdivided into three reliefs, so that the duty 
is arranged, as far as possible with this number, 
that the river is never left unprotected. 

In addition to the functions named, the Thames 
Police are expected to prevent rubbish being thrown 
into the river, to give prompt information and 
assistance to the floating engines in case of fire ; 
to see that the regulations under the Gunpowder 
Act are carried out ; and to apprehend deserters, 
felonious absentees, and people who have com- 
mitted offences on the high seas. Further, each 



188 THE THAMES POLICE. 

inspector is provided with what is technically 
termed a "deputation." This is an authority 
from the Custom-house to seize contraband goods, 
and to act generally on behalf of the authorities 
when the interests of the Reyenue are at stake. 
The two floating stations of the force are the 
Royalist, stationed off the Temple-gardens, and 
the Scorpion, at Blackwall ; the land station is at 
Wapping, which rather vague address is apparently 
the only one attainable. That this station is some- 
where near ''the Tunnel Pier;" that streets, 
crammed with coarse nymphs and sailors of every 
nationality, have to be traversed; that miles of 
flaring shops, cheap "gas's," and busy taverns 
leading suddenly up quiet, deserted, darkened 
lanes of brick, with sombre warehouses reaching 
far ahead on either side, only to be topped by a 
thicket of masts and spars from the docks beyond ; 
that a dangerous, and at night rather murderous- 
looking narrow wooden bridge or two must be 
crossed ; and that finally, in High-street, Wapp- 
ing, a lamp, with the words " Thames Police 
Office" blinking on its dingy sides, speaks of the 
place he is in quest of, is perhaps the closest in- 
formation it is possible to give a stranger. 

The Thames Police Office and Court near the 
Commercial -road East is the spot to which the 
West-end cabman inclines, and it is perhaps safer 



THE THAMES POLICE. 189 

for the explorer to conceal his real destination, 
and to limit his instructions to "the Thames 
Tunnel" if he wishes to be driven to the land 
station of the Thames Police without engrafting 
upon his inquiries there researches into the man- 
ners and customs of Stepney, Whitechapel, and 
Katcliffe Highway. The smells, sounds, and sights 
of the neighbourhood are all maritime, or at least 
marine-store like. The odours of tar and bilge- 
water, of hemp and ardent spirits, float gently in 
the air ; the polyglot oaths and shouts, the deli- 
cate jests, the playful badinage, and the wordy 
bargaining at the shop-doors and stalls, all relate 
directly or indirectly to the men who earn their 
living on, or by, or about the water; while the 
amusements provided in the taverns, the songs 
which reach the street through the open windows 
and from the door through which a prostrate sea- 
man in a red shirt is being ignominiously ejected 
for being too drunk to drink more — all speak a 
population, both floating and permanent, which is 
indissolubly connected with water-life. 

Hence, there is nothing odd or inappropriate 
on entering a police-office from the street to find 
yourself in a room which partakes of the pervad- 
ing character of the district. That a string of 
heavy tarpaulin garments should be suspended 
from the ceiling, and keep irritably bobbing to and 



190 THE THAMES POLICE. 

fro, as if they were so many stout pilots, whose 
bodies had swelled by long immersion, and were 
now protesting against being hung up to illustrate 
the effect of drowning upon the human figure ; 
that heavy blue-woollen wraps, the blankets used 
in the vain endeavour to bring back life to the 
pilots aforesaid, should rest near them ; and that 
the inspector on duty should wear a cloth cap with 
a glazed peak, and be pervaded generally with gilt 
buttons — all seem the necessary and commonplace 
associations of police life here. The men look 
nautical, the place is not unlike the 'tween-decks 
and cabins of a large ship ; and when, after eschew- 
ing the door-way by which you entered, you pass 
down a covered passage and some wooden steps — 
the companion ladder — you find yourself in a boat 
on the river Thames without surprise. 

But before personal inspection proceeds so far, 
the superintendent's room — with a stuffed wild- 
cat ornamenting one side of it, and a portrait in 
oils of a departed of&cer, who spent fifty-two years 
in the service, decorating the other — must be 
visited. It is gained by a tolerably long passage 
from the inspector's office, and, like the latter, is 
appointed with the usual iron bars, against which 
charges lean, and within which they are guarded, 
while particulars of their cases are being entered 
in the station books. Here, from three to four 



THE THAMES POLICE. 191 

hundred prisoners are received every year ; here, 
we see from incident books and annual returns 
how much and in what the work of the water- 
guardians differs from that of their brethren on 
land. 

A convict escaped from the dockyards is sup- 
posed to have crossed the river in the night, or to 
be lurking in some of the barges about the docks, 
and who is twenty-one years of age, and very fair, 
with blue eyes, and slight figure ; who has a scar 
on his left cheek, limps slightly on one leg, is 
plausible in manner, soft in speech, and five feet 
eight inches and a half high ; has been well edu- 
cated, and sometimes passes for a German. Such 
is a type of one class of cases to be found in the 
incident book. The education which has profited 
so little, the facile bearing and the soft tones which 
delighted a mother's heart not many years ago, 
the slight figure which unfits for, and the limp 
and scar which bear evidence to a lawless life, are 
all now so many instruments in the hands of the 
Thames Police, who boast that out of the robberies 
they hear of, detection and conviction follow in 
nine cases out of ten. Anchor and part of a cable 
lost, the name of the boat given, the time when it 
was anchored, why the master of the boat was 
away, and other details, form the next item seen 
in a haphazard turning-over of the leaves. Then 



192 THE THAMES POLICE. 

a robbery from a barge of sixty-four ingots of 
copper, and two cakes of copper weighing 56 lbs. 
eacb. Full but fruitless researches were made 
into tbe various suspected bouses in the neigh- 
bourhood ; next the radius of inquiry was extended ; 
and finally, within thirty- six hours of the loss be- 
ing reported, the whole of the copper was found at 
a house in Drury-lane, and was in due course re- 
stored to its owners, and the thieves convicted. 
Another robbery from a vessel of twenty-five 
bundles of whalebone, value 270L, all found in 
Clerkenwell, with a supplement of twenty bags of 
saltpetre, which had not been missed. A barge 
is discovered adrift in the river, when the police 
make her fast and report to her owners. A barge 
is plundered of its entire cargo by the lightermen 
employed on her ; a heavy fire at one of the crazy 
old houses by the waterside ; a defeated attempt 
to run contraband goods — such are, apart from 
the drowning cases, which is a branch of duty 
sufficiently extensive to call for separate notice, 
some of the occurrences recorded in the archives 
of the police at Wapping. 

But when the wet and slippery steps leading 
from the office to the water have been descended, 
and the stern of the supervision -boat in waiting 
has been reached, the inspector and the two con- 
stables proceed towards Deptford, the two latter 



THE THAMES POLICE. 193 

rowing briskly with the tide, the former steering 
and giving an occasional word of instruction, or 
making an inquiry of the vessels we pass. Glid- 
ing smoothly and silently into the dark night, the 
black and shining water giving back half-suUenly 
the reflection of the stars and lamps, the expedi- 
tion seems far more romantic and mysterious than 
it really is. It is very dark, and during the hours 
we were out, 9.30 p.m. to nearly midnight, it was 
singularly quiet and still, the sounds of Saturday- 
night's revelry from some of the waterside taverns 
and the shriek of the distant railway- whistle being 
the only noises mingling with the monotonous 
plashing of the oars. The various craft seemed de- 
serted. Here and there a deck-fire, or a shrouded 
shapeless figure on a barge, spoke of life and oc- 
cupancy ; but as a rule the people on board kept 
out of sight, and we might have been rowing 
.among a ghostly fleet. The red light of the 
Thames Tunnel-pier glared out ostentatiously, as 
if it belonged to some river chemist and druggist 
anxious to vend his restoratives or experimentalise 
upon a submerged body ; the dolphins, for moor- 
ing vessels about to enter the decks, loomed sud- 
denly out of the darkness as we approached them ; 
and the spars and ropes of the ships right and 
left, many of them moored so closely to each other 
as to make their separate identity undistinguish- 



194 THE THAMES POLICE. 

able, formed a fantastic fretwork against the star- 
lit sky. At rare intervals a craft was hailed; and 
when, as on three occasions, it was a Thames 
police-boat, the time of falling in with it and its 
whereabouts were carefully entered in a book. 

This was, in fact, the special function of the 
supervision-boat we were in. To ascertain that 
the men on duty in the middle district were actu- 
ally at work between London Bridge and Green- 
wich was the mission of the inspector ; and no 
sooner was a boat hailed than the dark lantern 
was turned on, the watch referred to, and a memo- 
randum made. The first detachment we fell in 
with prevented our running foul of a hawser made 
fast from a foreign vessel in the river to the shore. 
Kowing swiftly with the tide, we were, in the 
darkness, almost upon the rope before the warn- 
ing shouts reached us, when, by dint of rapid 
reverse strokes, we pushed back, and made round 
the vessel on the other side. Affixing ropes in 
this fashion is excessively dangerous, besides be- 
ing contrary to law; and the galley which warned 
us had just ordered the one in question to be 
taken in, and was waiting to see its instructions 
carried out when we arrived. 

Passed more vessels quietly slumbering, and 
by miles of bank - side, the prosaic and squalid 
tenements of which were invested for the time 



THE THAMES POLICE. 195 

with a picturesque beauty certainly not their own, 
through the dim uncertain light in which they 
were viewed; past dark buoys, which danced obeis- 
ance as we rippled the water in nearing them ; 
athwart the stern of a steam-tug, the only mov- 
ing vessel larger than our own we saw, which was 
puffing on towards the Pool ; by many a floating 
batch of rubbish and block of wood, which was in- 
variably looked closely at or touched with an oar, 
to see if it were what is called with dreadful signi- 
ficance '' a subject" — every now and then grating 
the bottom as we pulled close in-shore — we turned 
when between Deptford and Greenwich, and made 
for London-bridge. All this time keen searching 
glances were directed by steerer and rowers at 
every object within sight.' The least obstacle in 
the strong tide's way, the faintest novelty of out- 
line in barge or wherry, the slightest sign of aught 
unusual in the slimy filthy ooze, from which the 
water had retired, made us pull to and sift and 
search with microscopic scrutiny. 

So, after hearing weird and gruesome experi- 
ences of the finding of '' subjects;" of suicides, and 
the sad stories which come to light at inquests ; 
of lightermen, their wages, habits, and peccadil- 
loes, — we gradually and more slowly, for the tide 
is strong and eddies are frequent, reach the Tun- 
nel-pier and pass the station landing-place again. 
From here to London-bridge the river is more 



196 THE THAMES POLICE. 

thickly crowded. Steamers of all sizes, many of 
them ahoiit to start on the following morning, are 
moored side by side. Heavily-laden barges, many 
of them full of valnable property, lie thickly to- 
gether; and the inquiry, "Are you one of Phil- 
lips's folk?" elicits a sulky, ''Well, and if I are, 
what may you w^ant?" from a watchman, appa- 
rently putting on his night-coat, and indignant at 
being questioned. 

So, by tens of hundreds of thousands of pounds' 
worth of property, all at first sight, and from a 
superficial point of view, left without protection ; 
and after exchanging signals and speech with a 
Customs surveying-boat, and vainly attempting to 
land at the slippery, slimy stairs of London-bridge, 
the police-boat puts us on shore lower down the 
river, and with a couple of strokes of the oars is 
again lost in the darkness, to resume its weary 
watch among ships and wharves, until relieved by 
its successor on duty. Bentham declared that the 
name of the benevolent genius which has made 
countless multitudes living in peace and abund- 
ance upon the fruits of their labours, succeed to 
the nations of hunters who were alw^ays struggling 
between war and famine ; which has filled sea- 
ports with vessels receiving all the productions of 
the earth, and serving to exchange its riches — is 
Security. A night with the Thames Police is an 
admirable illustration to the text. 



UNDER THE SEA. 

Until 5.30 a.m. on a recent morning (August 
1869), Mr. John Hollingsliead was the last mem- 
ber of the outside world who had inspected per- 
sonally the submarine foundations of the Ad- 
miralty Pier at Dover. His graphic record of 
diving-bell experience was published nine years 
ago, and the authorities have since been com- 
pelled to return unfavourable answers to countless 
applications for permission to descend. Princes 
of the blood had, according to Mr. Hollingsliead, 
been '' courteously but firmly refused" before his 
time ; and he adds pertinently that " princes of as 
little blood as possible are the best persons to de- 
scend in diving-bells, because of the determination 
of that vital fluid to the head." But the week 
of our visit was an exceptional one at the Dover 
works ; first, because a stranger, whose public 
mission was neither scientific, ofiicial, govern- 
mental, nor mechanical, explored their ocean 
depths ; and secondly, because one of their work- 
men fell from the scaffolding plump into the 



198 UNDEE THE SEA. 

water, a distance of forty feet. The visitors wlio 
crave to accompany the divers, and whose motive 
is as innocent as their request is unreasonahle, 
invariably display their spirit of adventure in fine 
weather. Given a murky sky, a high wind, and 
a tempestuous sea, and no one wishes to go down ; 
hut let the sky he clear, and the water glassy, and 
the deepest diplomacy and the astutest "wire- 
pulling" are exerted to compass the impossible. 
As no later than last winter the works were 
stopped for months by reason of the insuperable 
difficulty of prosecuting them in rough weather, 
and as every minute is golden whenever the sea 
is smooth, the engineer and the contractors had 
to choose between fulfilling their trust and con- 
verting themselves and their undertaking into a 
raree-show. They chose the former alternative; 
and while every application to inspect is neces- 
sarily declined, the pier and breakwater progress 
apace. 

The comparative immunity from accident which 
this enterprise has enjoyed during the twenty-two 
years which have passed since it was commenced 
in 1847 was nearly broken in upon the day we 
were there. No diver has been killed or seriously 
hurt hitherto ; though the unhappy predecessor 
of the special boatman who is always in attend- 
ance for conveying workmen to and from the pier 



UNDER THE SEA. 199 

to tlie bells, was crusliecl to death between liis 
boat and the edge of the diving-bell in a heavy 
sea; so that the diver who fell under and rose 
again, and sank once more, and was saved by the 
boat last week, kept the luck of his fraternity 
unbroken. Half an hour after his escape he was 
eating bread and cheese with great composure, 
and describing the cause of his accident, as he 
acted it minutely on the identical rafter from 
which it took place. To reach this, you must 
have eaten fern - seed, or have undeniable cre- 
dentials and a recognised errand. 

Far away beyond the landing-place of the 
Dover and Calais steamers are certain huge posts 
and cross-bars projecting from the extreme end 
of the pier into the sea. Coming across Channel, 
they look like the scaffolding of a very maritime 
house ; seen from the Castle Heights, they pro- 
mise a display of fireworks in the evening ; while 
to those on the parade and on the pier itself they 
suggest respectively a wooden Stonehenge on a 
watery plain, and a practical and solid extension 
of the breakwater. The last theory is correct; 
and on a close view the scaffolding resolves itself 
into something between a stone-quarry, a mason's 
yard, a ship-breaker's wharf, an iron-foundry, and 
a stationary and extremely hazardous raft. Walk- 
ing on high along those broad and massive tim- 



200 UNDER THE SEA. 

bers means looking down upon the sea at forty- 
feet distance through gaping interstices a foot 
wide or more. You mount narrow incHnes, and 
traverse bridges made of planks; you observe 
large movable platforms at work, and rusty chains, 
and vast blocks of concrete, and tramways with 
wagons rushing down them at full speed, and, 
like the swine in the New Testament, casting 
themselves or their contents into the sea. Ropes 
and chains run from bar to bar, and from up- 
right to upright, mysteriously. Busy men in 
working dress are employed on cranks, or turn 
handles, or work chains. What seems to be a 
blank wall of granite is edging towards you with 
such a deceitfully regular motion, that you do 
not observe its progress, and would be quietly 
pushed into the sea, save that you are roused to 
your danger by the words, "Look out!" and so 
hasten tremulously along one of the beams ahead. 
It is as if the mainmasts of many great ships 
had been turned into bowsprits, and then trained 
across and about other mainmasts left in their 
regular station of life. The rolling sea is under 
you — green, treacherous, and hungry — which- 
ever way you turn ; and you hear explanations, 
and listen to the man who was half-drowned, with 
the full conviction that you have every facility for 
following his example. 



UNDER THE SEA. 201 

The moving granite wall was a huge block of 
concrete being shifted into its place by machinery 
before it was lowered into the sea ; while the long 
serpents of brown leather, which look like a con- 
tribution from the London Fire Brigade, and 
around which there is such a ceaseless bubbling 
on the surface of the water — these serpents carry 
down air by aid of yonder steam-engine to the 
divers at work below. Now and again voices come 
up out of the deep. The sonorous clapper of a 
musical bell strikes several times, as if some local 
clock were impatient of the hour ; a chain rattles, 
or a cable - line is pulled. The workmen on the 
spars and movable platforms understand it all, 
and move the hidden diving-bell "to France," — 
namely, towards the end of the pier nearest that 
country, — or "to Dover," or "to Folkestone;" 
that is, in the direction of each, as the signalling- 
bell decrees. Sometimes the needs felt below are 
too elaborate for mere signalling — as when the 
line was seen to vibrate vigorously, and a shut-up 
slate with a written message on it was received ; 
but for ordinary purposes the bell has sufficed 
ever since it was substituted for the cyclopean 
knocks against the sides of the diving-apparatus, 
which were the only means of communication 
years ago. These tappings had to be given up 
simply because the plant suffered enormously by 



202 UNDER THE SEA. 

reason of tlie clivers' vigour. When those under 
water could only talk to their fellows above by 
means of knocks, they hammered the diving-bells 
out of shape in an inconceivably short time. The 
iron walls bulged out, and their rivets threatened 
to give way, when the present system of clapper 
and rope was introduced. 

It was a sudden call from one of these ropes 
which so nearly made the man we have mentioned 
food for fishes. He is of middle age, and an ex- 
pert worker below sea. Latterly, however, he 
has been employed above, and was standing, as 
he said, '' with one foot round this 'ere line, and 
on the edge of this beam, my face to Shakespeare 
Cliff, and my back to the water. I'd got hold of 
the line with one hand, too, to steady myself, and 
my other leg and foot were loose like at the top 
of the beam. They gave a jerk from below which 
twisted my leg, pulled me out of the balance, and 
down I went, though I tried hard to catch the 
beam with my other hand." The drop was as if 
from the roof of a good-sized house ; but the 
speaker, following the law which impels man 
when falling to clutch fast by whatever he may 
have . in hand, never really let go the thin line, 
and was picked up with it in his grasp. Mr. 
Bispham, the resident superintendent for the con- 
tractors, Messrs. Lee and Sons, promptly adminis- 



UNDEE THE SEA. 203 

tered brandy; and the man ate his dinner, told 
and acted his simple narrative with his mouth full, 
and resumed his work all within the hour. We 
regard the old boatman (who, as he leans over 
the bulwarks of his craft, is removing a very small 
fish from his line, and baiting afresh) with re- 
newed interest on hearing how quickly he saved 
the speaker's life ; and it seemed as if he were 
quietly conscious of the increased importance with 
which this eventful break in the monotony of 
watching and carrying had invested him. 

Mr. J. K. M'Clean resigned the position of 
consulting engineer for the Crown for the Dover 
Admiralty Pier upon entering Parliament; and 
Mr. Druce, the resident engineer, whom recent 
official changes have transferred from the service 
of the Admiiralty to that of the Board of Trade, 
is now the professional authority having full juris- 
diction and responsibility; and it is an inspector 
who works for the Crown under this gentleman 
who is our companion and guide below. 

This is the morning after our examination of 
the works above. We have seen the huge blocks 
of concrete, composed of shingle and cement, and 
hard as the granite, to which they bear no small 
resemblance, lowered down at intervals by means 
of ''lewises" and ''jennies;" have marked their 
slow descent into the water, and seen the sea 



204 UNDER THE SEA. 

playfully ripple over them as tliey parted with the 
upper world for ever; have marked the shingle 
and Kentish rag heing tilted wholesale into the 
waters above what will be the centre of the fu- 
ture pier, and have learnt that its completion to 
low-water mark may be looked for before many 
months. 

The first contract for the Dover Pier was 800 
feet, was entered into between the Government 
of the day and Messrs. Lee in 1847, and was 
finished in nine years. When in 1856 Parlia- 
ment decided to have it lengthened, a second 
contract was concluded for 1000 feet more of 
pier; and this was follovv^ed in 1867 by a third 
contract for a further addition of 300 feet, which 
is to complete the undertaking. What are prac- 
tically two huge walls of concrete, one thirty feet 
and the other twenty-four feet wide, and with a 
space between them of seven feet, into which a 
foundation of small stones and rubble is being 
poured, constitute the submarine works. 

The morning is bright, and the sea without 
a ripple, when the writer emerges from the con- 
tractor's offices transformed, and, accompanied by 
Mr. Joseph Slee, the inspector already named, 
disappears from the world. There is great simi- 
larity in the personal preparations imperative on 
those who descend below the level of either earth 



UNDEE THE SEA. 205 

or water. Whether it is the coal-mines of Eng- 
land or Wales, the sewers of the City of London, or, 
as it turns out, the bottom of the English Channel, 
which you are about to explore, you must pull 
huge woollen stockings over your trousers, add 
a pair of thick overalls to these, divest yourself 
of upper garments, don something scrubby and 
ticklish, which is half jacket and half shirt, and 
does duty for both ; put on massive boots with 
soles and sides and tops as of cast-iron, and crown 
yourself with a cap or hat which looks like a dish- 
cover in oil-skin. Thus equipped you are ready 
to meet your fate. The helmet -dress, such as 
has frightened us all at the Polytechnic, is rarely 
used for practical work. It is a substitute for 
the diving-bell, not an accessory to it, and with 
its leaden and other fittings weighs some two or 
three hundredweight. It is only for some tem- 
porary purpose, however, — such as to ascertain 
quickly the condition of particular work, — that it 
is brought into play; and the ordinary descents 
are made in the dress described. 

A walk down the pier with what must look 
like a rowdy swagger, but is in reality a painful 
effort to master the unparalleled stiffness and 
hardness of the long boots, and we are in the 
centre of a group of hardy mermen attired as we 
have said, and waiting to go down. Some rusty 



206 UNDEE THE SEA. 

iron vessels, like huge flat-sided weights, are sus- 
pended from the scaffolding, and hang over the 
sea ; the old boatman sits in readiness, watchful 
and patient, exactly as if he had not moved since 
the night before ; the workmen on the beams 
above lower one of the brown weights towards 
the water's suiface; and, obeying a signal, vre 
proceed to clamber into the boat. 

There is no denying that it is nervous work. 
It is impossible to say how the diving-bell may 
affect you. Your friends have, we will say, w^arned 
you pleasantly that you will bleed at the ^ars, 
nose, and mouth; that men have been known to 
become deaf for life after just such a trip as you 
are about to take ; and that you may consider 
yourself fortunate if a temporary loss of hearing, 
and a chronic singing in the head, are the only 
penalties you pay. The sea never looked more 
beautiful, nor, as it seemed, less inviting than on 
the morning of our trip ; and when you are told 
*'to come down by the chain," and the phrase 
means scrambling in the hard thick boots down a 
perpendicular wall covered with horrid slimy stuff 
like green hair ; and when your foot has to find 
resting-places, which though roomy are scarcely 
convenient, among the rough blocks of stone, the 
preliminaries are not reassuring. All goes well, 
however. You learn that the regular divers are 



UNDEE THE SEA. 207 

nearly all deaf, and that tlie sliouting you have 
noted between them is a necessity. You will not 
suffer, however ; for you will, under advice, " keep 
bawling" directly the ear-tingling begins. 

A dexterous pull by the boatmen in and 
through the scaffolding, and we approach and 
are brought under the monster weight. It is 
hollow, and is, in fact, the diving-bell. Warned 
to keep a sharp look-out, and remembering the 
crushed boatman's death, you follow your guide's 
example, and while under the bell, seize first a 
central board and next an iron handle, and are 
soon seated inside it. Glancing upwards and 
around, you find yourself in a small apartment 
some six feet across and five feet high, with iron 
sides and roof, but without a floor, and which has 
hammers and other implements hanging in it, 
and stowed away conveniently in a sort of shelf. 
You feel like Gulliver when his house was car- 
ried off by the Brobdinagian bird. Above you are 
half-a-dozen bull's-eyes of glass, through which 
the bright sun shines, and makes your dungeon 
light. Your guide seats himself on one side of 
the bell, and after you have followed his example 
on the other he gives the signal, and the flooring 
of green sea at your feet comes up to meet you, 
to the cranking of machinery, and to a rumbling 
as of rusty nails being ground in a coffee-mill over 



208 UNDER THE SEA. 

your head. The seats are movable, and are taken 
out when the men are at work. Dropping very 
gently and gradually down, the four sides of the 
bell meeting the water at exactly the same time, 
you ask nervously as to the arrangements for air 
and as to signalling up again. A self-acting valve 
in the centre of the roof is shown, and you are 
asked if you remember the steam-engine you saw 
pumping air down yesterday. One of the ser- 
pents of the Fire Brigade is, you learn, keeping 
up a constant supply of fresh air for you ; and 
the handle above your guide's head is for signal- 
ling to those above. Having privately ascertained 
before you came down that three pulls repeated 
twice will cause the bell to be brought to the sur- 
face at once, you calculate your chance of giving 
these upon emergency, and without your guar- 
dian's consent, should you be seized with a sud- 
den qualm. 

A gurgling sound overhead, and the sea is 
rippling over you, and you are veritably under 
water. The sun still shines through the frothy 
bubbles you discern through the thick rough glass ; 
and you learn that these are lenses of great power, 
and how a diver's garments have been known to 
burst into a positive flame through the tiny win- 
dows acting as burning-glasses even while under 
the water. Down and down, through the green 



UNDER THE SEA. 209 

liquid at your feet, and the dreaded buzzing takes 
possession of your ears. Shouting questions out 
in obedience to instructions and at the top of your 
voice, you are conscious of several small reports, 
as if some children's balls had been secreted in 
your head and had suddenly burst. Then there 
is more singing, accompanied by hissing, as if 
an effervescing mixture were being stirred up in 
each ear and was in frisky condition ; then some 
sharp, darting pains, as if the corkscrews which 
have by this time supplanted the bubbling liquid 
as tenants-at-will had developed the properties of 
lancets, and were shooting out to meet each other, 
as if in a mimic bayonet - charge through your 
head ; then a plugging feeling as if you were 
being tightly corked up ; then some more reports, 
and you are better. 

Take it on the whole the trial has not been 
so severe as you expected, and you are prepared to 
listen to explanations by the time the bottom is 
reached. Out of and through the bright but thick 
green liquid a particularly smooth and well-laid 
pavement comes up to meet you. On this the 
bell settles, and some pulls are given to those 
working the machinery above to lower us no 
longer. The water is speedily forced out by the 
air, and the pavement is almost dry. We leave 
our seats and stand on it (it forms a flooring to 

P 



210 rxDER THE SEA. 

the bell), test tlie accuracy with which it is laid 
with a spirit-level belonging to the bell, and find 
it all true. We are on a portion of the outer 
part of the pier, and Inspector Slee takes down 
a massive chain and some hooks, and shows how, 
when this is attached to the lewises supporting 
a concrete block, that block and bell and divers 
are all moved together bodily from above. 

The atmosphere is astonishingly bright and 
clear. Our companion appears to become swar- 
thier, and his voice is not so distinct as usual, 
by reason of the buzzing, but the smallest print 
could have been read at any time without diffi- 
culty. This is due to the extreme smoothness 
of the sea. Let it be ruffled ever so little on 
the surface, and the work below has to be per- 
formed by candle-light. The divers have fre- 
quently to burn candles all the time they are 
down ; and w^hen the diving-bells are pulled up, 
the light shining from their interior and through 
the lenses in their roofs make them look huge 
monsters, with fiery eyes, emerging from the deep. 
More signals, and we are conveyed along the en- 
tire length of the pier below water — are conveyed, 
that is, by its outer wall, and note its mingled 
strength and symmetry. 

We are now five-and-twenty feet from the sur- 
face ; but the work is as smooth and even as that 



UNDER THE SEA. 211 

of the Thames Embankment, and we see on each 
block of concrete its number and the date of its 
make. This is necessary; for these masses of 
artificial granite, many of them weighing ten tons 
each, are moulded with mathematical nicety and 
according to a fixed plan. Each fits into the 
other like the bits in a Chinese puzzle ; and the 
result is that, though when viewed one by one 
above they look perfect cubes or squares, they 
form collectively a curved wall such as is essen- 
tial for a breakwater in this tide. Each monster 
piece being fitted to its fellow, is put gently into 
its place, and it there remains. No cement is 
possible here, but the foundations of the mighty 
pier look as if they had been turned out of a 
mould, so regular are they and so strong. More 
signalling, and we move " to Dover" and " to 
France," as well as over the centre of the pier 
where the shingle lies quiet and still. Further 
on, and at a far greater depth, are the excava- 
tions for the further continuance of the pier, 
where three feet of mud and decomposed veget- 
able matter are being removed before the chalk 
bottom is reached. 

We next hear of the extra wages paid the 
divers, of their being able to make 21. 10s. a week 
in fine weather, and of their being compelled to 
suspend work altogether in bad ; of their steadi- 



212 UNDER THE SEA. 

ness and industry ; of their worldng ordinarily in 
turns of five hours each, and of a sixth hour being 
found an almost unendurable hardship, although 
they are paid by time; and then, having learnt 
the use of the various implements for stone-fixing, 
and that the whole of the works are carried on 
by means of five such diving-bells as we are in, 
we are told we have seen all, and the signal is 
given for the ascent. We have been down three- 
quarters of an hour, and are brought up gently, 
and alight into the boat as it comes under, with 
ears which, though hissing a little, have almost 
recovered themselves, and so are pulled round to 
some steps, which we ascend, to the astonishment 
and delight of the steward and crew of an Ostend 
steamer lying alongside. 

There are no submarine works like those of 
Dover, nothing of the same kind being carried 
on in the same way at the same depth. Those 
who only know them as the text of financial de- 
bates in Parliament, and as costing some 25,000?. 
a-3'ear, or who have noticed without regarding 
the water-scaffolding on crossing the Channel, or 
whose impressions of a diving-bell are derived 
chiefly from a philosophical toy, would be amazed 
at the economy, discipline, and exactitude per- 
ceptible under the sea. When the sections of 
the submarine wall or pier advance to the sur- 



UNDER THE SEA. 213 

face — that is, after they have been built up forty 
feet from their foundations — they are rarely three- 
quarters of an inch out; and this fact, taken in 
conjunction with their grand solidity and smooth 
beauty, make them the symbols of scientific might 
and skill, contending successfully with Nature in 
her most difi&cult aspects and through her sternest 
moods. 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 

This is a letter from one of tlie '' respectable 
men" who slept in the Lambeth labour-shed on 
the same night as the "Amateur Casual." I dis- 
covered him by the simple prpcess of advertising 
in the second column of the Times. We have 
subsequently had frequent communications with 
each other, and I spent a very agreeable day 
with my oddly -found friend not long ago. In 
reply to my request that he would put on paper 
some of the experiences he told me, he wrote as 
follows : 

Soon after my decline into vagabondage last 
summer, I went into Essex; but I will just relate 
how the journey came to be contemplated. I had 
been lounging about the Parks for two days, and, 
as I had not commenced begging then, I was ex- 
tremely hungry. In the morning, after sleeping 
on the benches in the Mall, another seedy-looldng 
tramp, who had slept beside me during the night, 
commenced a conversation on appearances gener- 
ally, remarking that he would not have been 



TOLD BY A TEAMP. 215 

there, only lie couldn't get into a workhouse 
last night. Then he enumerated a few good 
workhouses, mentioning Mount - street as espe- 
cially worthy of patronage ; he told me, also, that 
the food was pretty good. I thought that I would 
go that evening and see whether I couldn't get 
in. I had a faint notion that Mount- street was 
near to Hyde Park ; and after leaning on the rail- 
ings in Kotten Eow, watching the " rank and 
fashion" for some time, I lounged into South 
Audley-street, and at the corner of a street saw 
a man with a white smock on, of whom I in- 
quired where Mount - street was ? He told me, 
and, just as I was leaving, said, with a sharp 
movement of his finger, "Want the big house?" 
I said that the workhouse was what I wanted. 
'^ Ah, well," he said, "just you look here, I 
wouldn't go there. It's a dirty, starving shop," 
I wished to know where else I must go, seeing 
that I was entirely without funds. He asked me 
if I was hungry; and on my replying in the affirm- 
ative, took me into the Albemarle Arms near, and 
pulled some bread and meat out of an oven in the 
taproom ; he also fetched a pint of beer, and while 
I was eating told me a little about himself. 

He was a farrier, but knew a better dodge than 
hard work. He was always about Grrosvenor and 
Berkeley squares, and held horses, opened cabs, 



216 TOLD BY A TRAMP. 

and did a little cadging wlien the opportunity 
presented itself. Tlie meat I was eating then, 
had been got from a servant down the street, 
and was the remains of yesterday's dinner. He 
said that if I w^as guided by him I could do a 
better thing than going to workhouses. I was 
curious to know what the " better thing" was. 
All the " pins," as he termed them, would be 
full of gentlemen's servants about nine o'clock 
that night, and if I told a good tale I could get 
plenty of cash. This I couldn't do, I said. Well, 
I might hold cab-horses, and be sure of a penny. 
I did hold a few cab -horses; but he was close 
by, and got the pennies, which he never failed 
to expend at the nearest publichouse. At about 
eight o'clock I proposed that he should see what 
food he could get from the servant-girls he had 
boasted about as being his friends. The first 
house we went to in Hill-street made him lose 
heart. A liveried footman came up the area steps, 
and in reply to his touch of the hat said, "Didn't 
I tell you before, that the confectioner's man 
always came round for the broken meats at six 
o'clock?" He wouldn't go to any other house; 
and as I could see he was fast getting drunk, 
and seeing no possibility of the " better thing" 
yet, I left him at nine o'clock, and went towards 
the workhouse. 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 217 

They had two spare bunks at Mount-street ; 
and the porter at the door asked me why such a 
chap as I wanted lodging ? I was tidily dressed, 
and what on earth could I w^ant there ? A pauper 
took me up to the casual ward, and on the way 
said, '' We allers keeps a bed or two empty, a- 
chance the bobbies brings a cove in. We've 
turned some away to-night, and you're devilish 
lucky to be taken in." 

In the morning, while in the oakum-shed, dis- 
cussions arose as to the best counties for begging, 
and the merits of workhouses generally. One 
man, whose appearance I shall not soon forget, 
dressed in tattered garments, with a jolly round 
face, was the great umpire on everything. He 
had been tramping twenty years, he modestly 
said, and had just come in from a journey by 
Oxford into South Wales, and gave rapturous 
accounts of the workhouses there. As he was 
ill clad, he wanted to know what workhouse in 
London was good for a tear-up ? He said he 
knew them all; but rules and regulations, per- 
haps, had altered since last he visited them. 

This question gave rise to a long argument, 
some speakers expressing themselves in favour of 
one, some of another workhouse. He said, " I 
don't care so much about the month I'll get, if 
they only give me tidy togs." One man said he 



218 TOLD EY A TRAMP. 

was going to Komford as soon as lie got out, and 
that as much skilly as you liked was given you 
there. I consented to go with him, as he wanted 
a companion, and we got to Romford about five 
o'clock in the afternoon. He was a quiet sort of 
man, and spoke very little, and did not beg on 
the road. On the left-hand side, going into the 
town, stands the reiieving-of&cer's house; a young 
man came out and gave us two tickets, scratched 
with a pen. We turned sharply round and up a 
narrow lane, and at the top sat down for a fev\' 
minutes. A young Vv^oman came past, from work 
I should think, and my companion asked her what 
she had got in the basket she was carrying ? She 
had some bread and cheese, the remains of her 
dinner, and gave it us willingly. 

The man at the gate would not admit us until 
six o'clock, and we lay down on the grass by the 
roadside, in company with several more. A man 
named Scottie had a dirty - looking woman with 
him, who was evidently used to such society. 
Another man, named Dick, of whom I shall have 
more to say, appeared to be the general friend of 
these two. The man who took our names at 
Eomford workhouse was an ignorant fellow, and 
a very slow writer, and some of the casuals gave 
him extra trouble. I thought I might as well try 
my hand, and gave him Owen Evans as my name. 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 219 

taking care to pronounce it ''Howing Heavens." 
This produced endless bother, and was only capped 
by the name of the town I came from, which was 
Llanfairfeckan. He gave this latter word up, and 
put Barking instead. 

The casual ward has no bunks, but has a 
raised board with mattresses, blankets, and coun- 
terpanes, dirty enough. It is a very small place, 
and might hold seven or eight ; but they managed 
to cram double that number in it this night. The 
man who takes care of this place is an old pauper, 
who has been at sea all his life. He had some 
soup and meat to sell at a penny a plateful ; but 
I must confess the humiliating fact, that the whole 
of the occupants of the ward could not produce 
that sum, and old Daddy — they are all called Dad- 
dies — said, " Well, I nivver seed anything like it ! 
Why, last summer there allers used to be a penny 
or two in the place ; but now ! why I can't get a 
farthing to scratch my nose with." One gentle- 
man said that unfortunately he had left his money 
on the pianer in the droring-room ; another said 
that he paid the whole of his money away for hin- 
com-tax ; while Dick said that the last time he 
was in quod he gave his tin to the governor for 
the Lancashire Distress Fund. All this " chaff" 
produced much laughter ; and everybody went to 
sleep in the best humour. I should have been a 



220 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 



little easier if I had been less crowded. In the 
morning you turn a crank from seven to eight, 
and then have breakfast, which is the thinnest 
of all thin skilly I ever savv^ Two pailfuls were 
brought up among about fifteen or sixteen men, 
and all swallowed. One man had six or seven 
pints of it, and I hope he enjoyed it. I took a 
good share of it myself. After breakfast we did 
another hour at the crank, and w^ere then free. 

I had previously been talking Avith the Dick I 
have mentioned, and he said he was going to Bil- 
lericay that night, and to Chelmsford after, with 
Scottie and the woman ; and as he appeared to like 
me, I said I would go with them. The man I had 
come with from London was going to Edmonton, 
he said, and so I left him. Scottie and the woman 
were going towards Yarmouth, where he had some 
relations ; but this plan was frustrated, as will be 
seen. We trudged merrily away ; Dick the while 
giving me lots of anecdotes of his life. He had 
originally been a bricldayer's labourer; but having 
robbed a man of his watch, he got nine months for 
it, and had been ever since alternately thieving, 
cadging, and in prison. He was, even with this 
degrading character, a kind sort of fellow, full of 
joke, but couldn't help stealing anything that 
came in his way. 

In the afternoon we got to a place named 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 221 

Orsett, at wliich place was a workhouse. It was 
about two o'clock when we got there, and a police- 
man, who had been enjoying a noonday nap in a 
stable, came to us with a very sleepy air, and re- 
fused to allow us to stay, giving as a reason that 
we had plenty of time to get on to Billericay, 
which was nine miles further. We represented 
ourselves as footsore, and told many other lies of 
the same kind ; but the policeman knew better, 
and bade us go on. Did you ever see three real 
tramps going along a road ? If you have, you will 
have observed that peculiar walk they have, head 
hung down, and treading as if the road were paved 
with needles. All tramps walk so. I never saw 
one who had been any time in the tramping line 
walk otherwise. This very afternoon I was pain- 
fully conscious of my three companions' vagabond 
gait and air. People stood and watched us until 
we were out of sight, and children ran away fright- 
ened. Very little talk went on until we had been 
walking some time, when we all sat down on the 
trunk of a tree by the roadside, and Scottie then 
blamed Dick for being in a hurry to get into 
Orsett, and thus making us do this journey. 
Scottie grew quite sarcastic ; but Dick took little 
notice, and was engaged throwing stones at a lot 
of geese about thirty yards down the road. 

We got into Billericay at five o'clock, and went 



222 TOLD BY A TEAMP. 

to a policeman for a ticket. This policeman was 
a long man and a great bully, and made divers 
grand efforts to impress us with a sense of his 
importance; he took our names, height, colour 
of hair, eyes, &c. ; and gave us a ticket with as 
magnificent an air as if he was conferring upon 
us a pension. Billericay workhouse is a fine build- 
ing, with an imposing gateway. An old porter 
took our tickets, and having made a memorandum 
of them, conducted us to the casual ward, which 
was a small place, and smelt horribly. Some straw 
on a raised board was the bed, and the covering 
was a counterpane that might have been white 
once, but from long service it had grown gray or 
nearly black. Eight opposite the bed, hung against 
the wall, was a figure of wood. This figure was 
clothed in carpet, and had the wrong or white side 
on one arm, one leg, and half the body, and the 
red or right side on the corresponding parts. It 
had a notice under it, that any person tearing up 
clothes in Billericay workhouse would be provided 
with a suit of the above description, and after- 
wards taken before a magistrate. The appearance 
of a person dressed in this way must be highly 
ludicrous ; and I was given to understand by a 
pauper in the house that it had the desired effect, 
and that the guardians were rarely troubled by 
a '' tear-up." The figure against the wall was as 



TOLD BY A TEAMP. 223 

large as a man, and I remember being rather 
startled when I awoke in the morning by its 
appearance. All kinds of names were written on 
the whitewashed walls ; among them a piece of 
poetry, which began, 

And what do you think is Billericay law ? 
Why, lying till eleven in the dirty straw. 

I forget the rest of it, but remember that it con- 
tained about a dozen lines, and that towards the 
latter end it was very abusive of the master of the 
workhouse. It was signed "Bow-street." Scottie 
assured me that this gentleman's effusions were to 
be seen in most workhouses in the country, and 
that he had the honour of the great poet's personal 
acquaintance. True to the rhyme of " Bow- 
street," we were kept until eleven, and, what is sur- 
prising, had nothing to do but lie in bed. A piece 
of bread at night and a similar piece in the morn- 
ing was all the food we got. 

From the time I left London to when I re- 
turned, I never begged ; but Scottie and the wo- 
man did. Dick did very little begging either. 
He told me he didn't come exactly to cadge, but 
to steal. We went on very poorly in the way of 
eating, and except what we got from Scottie and 
the workhouses, had but little indeed until after 
we left Chelmsford. We went along very fast on 
this morning, which was Sunday, until we came to 



224 TOLD BY A TRAMP. 

a brook, wliere we all washed, and wiped our faces 
as best we could with the inside lining of our coats ; 
Scottie with the girl's dress. We got near Chelms- 
ford in the afternoon, when the three - o'clock 
church bells were ringing. Profiting by the Orsett 
experience, we stayed a little distance outside it 
till a more advanced hour. It was at a sharp turn 
in the road, opposite a stile that led into the town, 
that we lay down and rolled about for full two 
hours. Two gentlemen came past, and offered us 
tracts, repeating a pious sentence that I have heard 
before and since. We took them. Scottie in- 
quired if the gentleman had any loose cash to 
spare. No ; but plenty of tracts. At about five 
o'clock we went down into the town, and made 
towards the police-station, and got a ticket. The 
tickets told us that we were vagrants, and would 
have to do four hours' work for the food and lodg- 
ings given us ; but it was not done. In going 
towards the workhouse, right through the town, 
we of course, on Sunday - night, met numerous 
crowds of well-dressed people, and I have a painful 
recollection of my humiliation. The people stared 
hard at us, and I felt it keenly to think I had 
come to this. This shame got obliterated in a 
few months, and I could walk in a ragged state 
through any street with the greatest composure. 
The man at the porter's lodge came out re- 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 225 

markably sharp, like a jack-in-the-box, and made 
a sharp snap at every word we said. When he 
had taken our names, he shouted to some one else 
further up the walk; and presently a gentleman 
was seen standing at the door in the main build- 
ing, smiling, and apparently on good terms with 
himself and everybody else. We went up to him, 
and he took our names and descriptions. I told 
him I was a compositor. '' 0, indeed ! and where 
have you worked last ?" ''In the Standard of&ce," 
I said, because it came soonest to my lips. "And 
pray, what made you tramp about like this ?" 
This being sharp questioning, I floundered a little, 
and have but a faint idea what answer I gave. 
He took it kindly, though, and gave me some 
private details how a brother of his was in the 
same trade, and even complimented me by say- 
ing, "I was sure, soon as ever I saw you, that 
you was above the ordinary run of chaps wot 
come here." He gave us some bread, and called 
out to a boy (a pauper lad), "Here, Jim, take 
this gentleman to the ward set apart for — for — 
now, then, you know — and don't stand gaping 
there." Jim went along at a slow march, with 
his chin glancing heavenward, towards the casual 
ward, which is a moderate-sized place, and similar 
to Billericay in its bedding. 

We were awakened at seven in the morning, 



226 



TOLD BY A TEAMP. 



when we expected to have to do our four hours' 
work; but my good-tempered friend let us off, 
and, giving us each a piece of bread, bade us 
good-morning. Scottie and the woman accom- 
panied us as far as the bottom of the road, and 
then we parted. I may as well mention, that in 
about a week after this I saw this girl at one of 
the workhouse-gates in London, disfigured with 
a black eye, and that she told me that soon after 
they had left Chelmsford, Scottie ill-treated her 
shamefully, and created such a disturbance as to 
get into prison. He was at that time " doing" 
a month in the jail at Chelmsford. I never saw 
Scottie afterwards. Dick and I walked on, that 
Monday morning, until about eleven o'clock, at a 
pretty good pace. We then stole some potatoes 
from a field, and, having kindled a fire with some 
wood by the roadside, roasted or baked them, and 
Dick begged some salt. After that, we walked 
on until about two o'clock, when a fellow coming 
on behind us got into conversation with us. 

This man was very young and very simple, 
and had been doing some labouring work a few 
miles distant, and was on his way to London. 
He said he would like to accompany us, as we 
were going that way. We told him that, not 
having had much to eat that day, we would be 
glad if he would pay for a little. He said he 



TOLD BY A TRAMP. 227 

had three shillings in his pocket, and didn't mind 
standing bread and cheese. 

At the first inn the man got us the food, and 
Dick, having called me outside, suggested that 
we should "nail" the cash. The young man 
had a small bundle, in which were a shirt and 
other old rags, and Dick told him confidentially 
that it would be safer if he tied his money in a 
corner of this bundle. The young man acquies- 
cing, gave the remainder of it, two shillings and 
fourpence, to Dick to wrap up. Dick tied the 
fourpence in a knot of one corner of the handker- 
chief, and kept the two shillings. Having done 
so, he placed the bundle on the table, saying, 
^' Noiu it's safe." The man, feeling tired, put the 
bundle under his head as a pillow, and said he 
would " do a snooze." In a few minutes Dick 
gave me the signal, and we speedily put half-a- 
dozen miles between us and the man we had 
robbed. I often think about this incident, and 
what rascals we were. 

Dick, during the time we walked along the 
road, told me many incidents of his life. He 
had been in nearly every jail around and in Lon- 
don, and could tell-off on his fingers the pudding 
and meat days. He was deeply in love with a 
certain lady in Flowery Dean-street, and of this 
damsel he was never tired of talking. I asked 



228 TOLD BY A TRAMP. 

him, in consideration of Ms glowing accounts of 
a thieving life, would he take me as a pupil. He 
said, '' Now, look here ; yer a youngster, and don't 
know nothin'. You would be a continual trouble 
to me if I took you ; besides, suppose you got 
nabbed, wouldn't yer in your cell curse me for 
ever leading you on? I know you would. The 
first time as ever I robbed a cove, which was at 
Kingston (I come from near there), was of a 
pinchbeck watch and six bob, and the fellow that 
led me to do it I have allers cursed, and allers 
shall. You may think, by hearing me talk, that 
thieving is a easy game, but it ain't. I wish I 
knew how to get out of it easy." 

By dint of hard walking, we arrived at Ilford 
about five o'clock in the evening. This was a 
little over twenty miles, I understood, and we 
were both very tired. Under the very walls of 
Ilford jail we sat doAvn to rest, and Dick called 
back to memory how he had come out of that jail 
from "doing" nine months, and made many af- 
fecting observations on old times, and the lenient 
way in which the " screws" treated him. We got 
to Stratford about eight o'clock, and I was nearly 
exhausted and very footsore. Dick knew a cer- 
tain lodging-house in a bye-street, and thither we 
repaired. A woman came out, and called us " Sir" 
at every other word, and said she was glad to see 



TOLD BY A TRAEIP. 229 

Dick. After a few moments' talk, slie called a 
man, who led us upstairs into a small room, con- 
taining one bed and a single cliair. We had two- 
pence when we got up, and with this we bought 
a small loaf, and made quickly into town. In 
passing through Whitechapel, Dick had to go to 
a street leading out of Petticoat-lane, and I never 
saw him afterwards. 



THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 

More than a generation back " The Exquisite," 
running between Bristol and Exeter, was famous 
among coaches. Its team, its appointments, its 
pace, its regularity, the celebrity of its driver, and 
the general character of dash and "go" pervading 
it, combined to exalt its reputation, until not to 
have occupied the box-seat by the side of Harry 
Ward, was to confess yourself behindhand in the 
pleasant mysteries of whip and road. Washington 
Irving' s dictum, that '' a stage-coach carries ani- 
mation always with it, and puts the world in 
motion as it rolls along," applied with peculiar 
force to " The Exquisite;" for the immense popu- 
larity of its coachman and the number of plea- 
sure journeys taken on it purely for the sake of 
his society, and for the enjoyment to be derived 
from watching his masterly management of the 
reins, made it the liveliest as well as the most 
rapid of coaches. It is not surprising, therefore, 
that the memory of this *' Exquisite" is revered 



THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 231 

by modern coaching-men, for it represented in the 
fullest sense the ideal of perfection which they, as 
revivalists, wish to keep in view. 

Mr. Hoare, the proprietor and driver of the 
coach now running from London to Tunbridge 
Wells and back on every week-day, has given this 
feeling practical expression, and by naming his 
vehicle '' The Exquisite," challenges comparison 
with the glories of past coaching. The new Ex- 
quisite is made as like the Bristol-and-Exeter one 
as is well possible. It is an uncompromising 
stage-coach, with the names of the places it runs 
to and through in great gilt letters on its boot 
and sides ; and its guard, its build, its harness, 
and its accompaniments are all on the old model. 
It would be impossible to mistake it for a private 
drag, and in this particular it differs considerably 
from the Brighton coach, which is also owned 
by private gentlemen. The latter has no writing 
on it, and might pass for one of the ordinary 
vehicles driven by a member of the Four-in-Hand 
Club. The proprietor of the Tunbridge- Wells 
coach considers this a defect, and prides himself 
on the minute accuracy with which he has repro- 
duced the best of the old-fashioned stage-coaches. 
The mechanical arrangement whereby the action 
of the skid is aided, and an effective drag put 
upon all four wheels by working an iron handle 



232 THE TUNBKIDGE-WELLS COACH. 

from the box, is pointed out, almost apologetically, 
as a concession to modern ideas ; but it is the only 
particular in which change has been allowed, and 
the improvement scarcely mars the effect of the 
resuscitation. 

Although having in its leading features a 
general resemblance to the Brighton venture, 
Mr. Hoare's speculation yet differs from it in so 
many important characteristics as to be practi- 
cally unique. He stands alone, has no partner, 
and but one paid "whip" to assist him. The strain 
seems tremendous ; and if it were not that the 
proprietor of the new Exquisite has had some 
years' experience of this kind of public enterprise, 
we should be disposed to say it could not last. 
To drive eighty miles a-day for six days in the 
week — to be absorbed, that is, in a kind of skilled 
labour which demands great strength, considerable 
patience, and unswerving attention from ten. in 
the morning till six at night ; to be out in all 
weathers ; to have an unfailing stock of civility 
and briskness ever on hand ; to be well up in the 
way-bill — in other words, to be able to answer 
questions as to the numbers carried since the 
commencement of the season on the 1st of May, 
and of the numbers carried during any week, as 
compared with its predecessor ; to be in all essen- 
tials as completely the servant of the public whose 



THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 233 

cooperation he asks for, as if lie were paid by a 
weekly wage — this it is to be a young man of for- 
tune and family with a passion for driving four- 
in-hand. We say nothing about the cost of the 
hobby, or of the discrepancy between disburse- 
ment and receipt, when coach and cattle are of 
the very best, and when the fare of the former is 
but seven shillings and sixpence a-head from Lon- 
don to Tunbridge. The point of interest to the 
public is, that it is permitted to share in the ad- 
vantages arising from an outlay which must be 
considerable ; and that neither favour nor intro- 
duction is needed to enable them, in return for 
the modest sum we have quoted, to pass through 
some of the most beautiful scenery in England 
under the most favourable circumstances in the 
world. 

The White-Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, is the me- 
tropolitan starting-place of the Tunbridge coach. 
Our experience on a certain day was, that the nu- 
cleus of a crowd began to assemble about it at a 
few minutes before ten a.m., watched the prepa- 
rations with intense interest, and smiled and ap- 
plauded the passengers taking their seats much as 
if these latter were discharging some noble act of 
public duty. The cabman, with a grievance real 
or fancied, against one of the passengers, and 
who remained sulky and dissatisfied until the 



234 THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 

whip was cracked, and tlie leaders, after a prelimi- 
nary frisk or two, broke into a steady trot, when 
he too burst into a genial smile ; the distin- 
guished-looking man who had come down hoping 
for a front seat, but who, finding all five engaged, 
promptly remembered an important business en- 
gagement, and supplemented his excuses by pre- 
senting his more fortunate friends with baskets 
of strawberries from the great fruit-and-flower 
shop hard by ; the old gentlemen at breakfast in 
club-chambers, who looked up from their news- 
papers, clean, but cross at being disturbed by 
the spirit-stirring bugle-call of the guard, — were 
all people whose valedictory congratulations were 
marked and real. 

It is such a palpable holiday, this coach-trip, 
that every one is pitied who is left behind. Those 
of the public who are driving go slowly as the 
coach comes near, those on the pavement stop to 
mark the action of the bounding team. The four 
magnificent chestnuts rattle along bravely; thread 
through crowded Whitehall, turn round by Par- 
liament-street, and over Westminster-bridge at a 
splendid pace, and are guided as much by voice as 
by hand. There is some skilled driving in the 
Westminster-road, which reminds one a little of 
poor Baron Nathan and his dance among the eggs 
at Eosherville. An omnibus or two, a few cabs, a 



THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 235 

selection of costermongers' barrows, a railway van, 
and many tradesmen's carts, are jumbled together 
intricately; and the coach glides in and out as 
easily as if it and its team were a many-jointed 
serpent, though the road has been macadamised 
the day before, and two of the vehicles sprawled 
on it are without guidance, through their masters 
having betaken themselves to the public-house. 
New-cross, and the road lined with well-built ter- 
races which leads to Lewisham, both express wel- 
come in hand-waving from windows, and by long 
and sympathetic looks. 

The experience recorded occurred on a Monday 
in 1869, which was quoted afterwards as the first 
very hot day of the year. Under the low rail- 
way-bridge at Lewisham, over which engines and 
trains seem always passing, and which is so ex- 
posed as to be a permanent cause of disturbance 
to horses in the road below; past the running 
stream in which vehicles are being washed, and 
steeds and cattle wading to their middles ; when 
the guard suddenly becomes more merrily ener- 
getic with the horn than ever. The reason is not 
far to seek. A gentleman and lady, a servant, 
and a noble dog, stand at the bottom of an avenue 
hard by. A moment's delay, and the steps are 
down, and the lady and gentleman seated on the 
coach. Another moment, and the dog has given 



236 THE TUNBPJDGE- WELLS COACH. 

up the basket he held in his mouth, and the ser- 
vant the plaid and dust-coat he carried ; and we 
are off again. 

" Long, lazy, lingering Lewisham" looks in 
a transition state. The complete rusticity of its 
early days has fled for ever; but it has not yet 
given it"self thoroughly up to suburban conven- 
tionality. The four chestnuts bound along its 
main thoroughfare grandly, and never flag or give 
a moment's trouble until pulled up, and horses 
are changed. This is at a tavern to the left ; and 
children with a bouquet for our popular amateur 
coachman, helpers all alive and wreathed in smiles, 
a village quidnunc or two, and a flock of migra- 
tory geese, are assembled to watch the taking of 
the coach's photograph. The operator is all ready 
on the patch of waste green to the right of the 
road, and passengers pose themselves and look 
amiable. Attempts are made to coax the fresh 
four horses into momentary quietness, the artist 
puts his head in a bag, after which, and a second's 
pause, he vouchsafes the words " All right," and 
we bound along the country again, hoping that 
the impressions to be printed by our return will 
prove complimentary. Bromley, with its quaint 
old red-brick Bishop's College, its snug but sleepy 
little streets, its country-town look, its ancient 
mansions, its traditions of treasonable plots and 



THE TUNBEIDGE-WELLS COACH. 237 

counterplots, is gained almost as soon as tlie 
remote confines of Lewisliam are left. 

We pull up for a moment at the White Hart, 
just newly painted, it is said in honour of the 
coach, to admire the delicious peep of gaily-co- 
loured garden to be seen through its hall-door, 
and hold cheery converse with some gentlemen 
farmers and their wives, who have so timed their 
drive as to be halting here as we pass. Then on 
again with the old musical clatter of the ever- 
active hoofs on the hard dry road, down the 
steep hill, merrily up the road on the other side 
the hollow, and so past Bromley-common. The 
country has been rapidly increasing in beauty for 
the last half hour. The rich fat meadows bend 
and undulate before the summer wind, their long 
grass moving to and fro in the bright sun like 
water. The view expands to right and left, and 
mighty trees throw their leafy shadows across 
the road in every variety. The cones of the red- 
and-white chestnut, the mayflower, the sycamore 
spreading " in gentle pomp its honeyed shade," 
the oak in full leaf, and the elm stretching forth 
its broad arms, are all seen to advantage this glori- 
ous day. Myriads of insects, too, keep the air alive 
with their busy hum ; and the mellow sweetness 
of the fresh-cut grass comes pleasantly over hedge 
and field. Off the coach it is intensely hot ; but 



238 THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 

the speed at which it goes keeps up a constant 
breeze, which fans the faces of the passengers, 
and brings them sweet scents fresh from the 
country-side. 

Is it now, or further on, that we meet the 
picnic party, and take up the comfortable couple 
with the fat portmanteau ? We seem to be always 
taking up or putting down, or making ourselves 
agreeably felt in other ways, along the road. Now 
it is a smart barouche, waiting under the spread- 
ing oaks by the corner of the shady lane, which 
intrusts us with its fair and fashionable freight; 
now a couple of bicycles, which, having carried 
two gentlemen to the foot of a good stiff hill, 
prompt them, red and perspiring as they are, to 
telegraph playfully, but fruitlessly, for a lift ; now 
a knot of husbandmen, busy with barrows, who 
make the coach's coming a reason for a rest, while 
brows are wiped and sympathetic grins exchanged ; 
now a race for coppers between the children of 
the one shabby and deserted village we see. Such 
incidents run into each other when you are career- 
ing through a country at an average rate of eleven 
miles an hour, and when your pace, at certain 
parts of the road, reaches fourteen for a whole 
stage. 

Horses are changed again at Farnborough ; 
"Darkie," a mulatto keeper, making himself espe- 



THE TUNBRIDGE -WELLS COACH. 239 

cially active with the harness, his white teeth 
gleaming in the sun as he gave back the chaff 
he got. A peep into the old inn here, auricular 
confession from the landlady that " the whole 
place was asleep until the coach begun to run 
again ;" and we dash off to the grand old tune. 
Now is the mystery of that basket which the re- 
triever gave up at Lewisham explained. Moselle 
and ice are handed round from it, and make, with 
the strawberries previously named, a cool and 
light refection. Such is the good-fellowship in- 
spired by the Exquisite, that Englishmen actually 
exchange civilities without being introduced, and 
hospitalities are rendered, and stories told, as 
genially as if all present belonged to the same 
party. 

The scenery grows more lovely, and the atmo- 
sphere is singularly clear; there is no summer 
haze to-day, and the vast expanse is full of colour. 
Far away, where the dark purple hills meet the 
bright sky, the line they form is as sharp and 
clear as if it had been cut out with a knife ; and 
over all the intervening ground, parks, houses, 
and spires, and even the shape and limit of fields, 
can be discerned as clearly as on a map. Every 
now and then, though, the road changes, and we 
are shut-in by lofty trees, through which glimpses 
of soft bright sward are gained ; and once a cro- 



240 THE TUNBKIDGE-WELLS COACH. 

quet party, with its gay dresses and merry laugh- 
ter, makes a charming foreground to a gray old 
mansion looking soberly on. All this time there 
seems no limit to the enjoyment of the horses. 
Well selected and in capital condition, they be- 
come fidgety when asked to moderate their speed, 
as if they spurned such prosaic considerations as 
hilly ground or a heavy load, and they never 
seemed so really happy as when permitted to in- 
dulge in a brief gallop. They literally gambolled 
at times, but always within the proper bounds of 
discipline, and to the acceleration of pace. 

Another change — a roadside inn this time — 
at the Polehill Arms, and then to Sevenoaks be- 
hind a team which excels its predecessor, and 
causes us to run through Riverhead, and pull-up 
at the Crown like conquerors. Madamscourt-hill, 
and the other scenery on each side of Sevenoaks, 
astonishes every one who sees it for the first time. 
The first view of Italy from Mont Cenis is re- 
called, save that the foliage is more plentiful, and 
the signs of agricultural prosperity more marked. 
There is nothing finer in England, there are few 
things finer in Europe, than the views here ; and 
when Mr. Hoare told us that he had selected the 
Tunbridge-wells road for his coaching experiment 
solely out of love for its scenery, it was impos- 
sible not to commend his taste. Stretching in a 



THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 241 

vast panorama, tlie expanse the coach-road wmcls 
through and commands includes every requisite 
for landscape beauty. There is water, there are 
trees, there are old mansions, there are secluded 
dells, there are winding-paths, and hill and dale, 
and quiet nooks and peaceful-looking glades, all 
blended into a series of harmonious pictures, over 
which the eye lingers with an enjoyment which 
never palls. 

Through the narrow streets of Sevenoaks, and 
past the queer old gabled houses still remaining 
to prove its antiquity, at a pace which makes 
their windows rattle again, and the site of Knole 
Park and house to the left conjures up a world 
of anecdote. The original Sir Joshuas, including 
those from which the best -known likenesses of 
Dr. Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith are engraved ; 
the quaint rooms and furniture, all speaking of 
a bygone and artistic period ; the pictures, each 
with a history attached ; the grounds, the family 
vicissitudes, are all chatted over ; while the mar- 
vellous effects of sun and shadow are observed 
through the brown trunks of clustered trees. The 
attractions of the road culminate from here to 
Sevenoaks, and picnic parties may take the hint. 
Nothing would be easier than to leave Piccadilly 
for one of the many charming spots we are pass- 
ing now, to dispose of the contents of a hamper, 



242 THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 

and to have an hour or two's ramble in the fields 
or woods, drinking-in the view, and to then drive 
back by the return coach in the afternoon. It 
needs but a little forethought as to the securing 
of seats to carry such a programme out, and to 
enjoy advantages of speed and varied scenery to 
an extent unattainable in any other way. 

Tunbridge and Tunbridge Wells are too well 
known for description. Mr. Hoare gives up the 
reins to Mr. Pawley, the host of the White Horse, 
and an old " whip," at the former place, and takes 
his seat behind ; but the pace does not flag, and 
we rattle round the sharp corner by the Koyal 
Sussex at Tunbridge Wells, amid the cheers and 
nods of a tolerably large assembly of fashionable 
idlers. Quite a collection of mail phaetons and 
dogcarts, carriages and flys, are drawn up under 
the trees and by the road ; and it is easy to see 
that the arrival and departure of the Exquisite is 
the event in many a valetudinarian's day. The 
coach we have come down by is put aside, and a 
duplicate vehicle stands in readiness for the re- 
turn ; for the journey is a trying one, and it is 
expedient to have the plant well seen to each 
time it is used. There were prodigious appetites 
at lunch. The elderly gentleman staying in the 
house, who was indulging in a light and classic 
meal of claret and biscuits, with an old edition 



THE TUNBRIDGE-WELLS COACH. 243 

of Horace for his companion, seemed absolutely 
startled at the vigour with which the coach people 
applied themselves to the hot roast beef; but time 
was precious, and the execution done spoke vol- 
umes as to the effect of the open air. 

A rest of three-quarters of an hour, and we 
were on the road again ; Mr. Hoare resuming the 
reins at Tunbridge, and the splendid pace being 
a little accelerated on the level bits near Bromley 
and Lewisham. We took several fresh passengers 
back, and left and exchanged many others on the 
road ; the regular coach-traf&c being rather local 
than metropolitan. But all who had made a day 
of it from London agreed to repeat the experi- 
ment ; and it was with fervent but not altogether 
disinterested wishes that the fashion of inviting 
the English public to see the most beautiful parts 
of their own country from a costly coach may 
spread among those capable of indulging it, that 
hands were shaken, and farewells interchanged. 



OUE PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 

The trade of chemist and druggist is on its way 
to acquire the dignity of a profession. The in- 
fluential society which has its headquarters in 
Bloomsbury - square has been steadily working 
toward this end ever since its incorporation by 
Royal Charter in 1841 ; and the " crowning of 
the edifice" took place when the new Pharmacy 
Act received the royal assent. The scientific 
knowledge and practical skill which our chemists 
and druggists must in future attain before they 
are allowed to make - up medicines or dispense 
drugs, are such as are demanded by no other trade 
under Heaven. 

By the Act which came into operation on the 
first of January in the year 1869 it is unlawful 
"for any person to sell or to keep open shop, for 
retailing or compounding poisons, or to assume or 
use the title of chemist and druggist, or chemist 
or druggist ... in any part of Great Britain un- 
less he be registered as a pharmaceutical chemist, 
or a chemist and druggist, and conform to such 



OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 245 

regulations as to the keeping, dispensing, and 
selling of poisons, as may be prescribed by the 
Pharmaceutical Society, with the consent of the 
Privy Council." To prevent hardship to those 
already established in the business, it was decided 
that where men had kept shop three years prior 
to the passing of the Act, the fact of their having 
done so should be taken as a qualification ; and 
that when they had acted as assistants or shop- 
men for the same period, they should be registered 
as chemists and druggists on passing a modified 
examination. With these exceptions, it will be 
unlawful for any one to compound or dispense 
drugs to the public who has not passed one of the 
two tests prescribed by the Pharmaceutical So- 
ciety ; the first, or minor examination, giving them 
the title of chemist and druggist ; the second, or 
major one, conferring the rank of pharmaceutical 
chemist, together with an exemption from serving 
on juries. 

At the establishment of the Pharmaceutical 
Society in Bloomsbury- square may be seen young 
men from all parts of Great Britain, pursuing an 
elaborate course of study under skilled professors. 
Their apprenticeship over, they will aspire to 
situations as shopmen, and are now at work fit- 
ting themselves for the necessary certificate. A 
museum containing specimens of drugs and die- 



246 OUR PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 

micals of all kinds, all of which are open to the 
inspection and handling of the student, is the 
first department seen. A spacious lecture-theatre 
is the next, its stage being fitted with the "pro- 
perties" of the last lecturer, and its black board 
still containing his symbols and illustrations in 
chalk. The lectures given here each morning 
are so well attended that the place is always full. 
Upstairs is the library, with 3000 volumes of 
scientific literature, and every periodical published 
on pharmacy and chemistry. 

The number of candidates presenting them- 
selves has increased so enormously during the 
current year (1869), that the council-chamber on 
the next floor has been added to the ordinary ex- 
amination-room ; both apartments being, on cer- 
tain days in the week, filled with young men 
endeavouring to prove themselves worthy of the 
diploma of the society. About a dozen examiners 
are employed ; the candidates sitting at long tables 
like counters, some mixing drugs, others analysing 
medicine, and others, again, solving crabbed pro- 
blems as to the efi'ect of certain ingredients under 
specified conditions. Those up for the minor 
examination, to pass which is to gain the title of 
chemist and druggist, are called upon to prove 
their capacity under the six heads of prescrip- 
tions, practical dispensing, pharmacy, materia 



OUR PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS o 247 

medica, botany, and cliemistry. Tliey must sliow 
themselves able to read without abbreviation au- 
tograph prescriptions ; to translate them into 
English, and to render a literal as well as an 
appropriate translation of the directions for use. 

But a glance round the room during the ex- 
amination gives us its character very clearly. 
Some of the candidates appear to be playing at 
shop. There are two pale-faced young men mak- 
ing pills as if for dear life ; here is one weighing 
and mixing drugs, which he afterwards turns into 
a draught, writing the directions with great neat- 
ness, and informing an imaginary patient that 
'^ two table spoonfuls are to be taken every three 
hours." Others are spreading plasters, leaving 
the requisite amount of white margin round the 
yellow sea of sticky composition, and looking as 
if they thought the results of their handiwork were 
masterpieces of realistic art. A bunch of dead 
leaves and a handful of dry twigs and roots are 
produced, and their character distinguished with 
great rapidity. The botanical names of the plants 
yielding them ; the natural order to which each 
belongs ; the countries from which they are ob- 
tained ; and the medicinal preparations into which 
they enter, are all given to the satisfaction of the 
examining Board, as well as the sources of the 
chief animal substances used in medicine. A 



248 OUR PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 

general knowledge of tlie elementary structure of 
plants, and of their stem, root, and leaf, is looked 
for ; while the names and parts of the flower also 
must be given. It is of course held necessary 
that candidates should be able to recognise the 
several acids, oxides, salts, and other definite 
chemical bodies at sight ; while to describe the 
processes by which they are produced, the compo- 
sition of such as are compound, and the decom- 
positions that occur in their production, is essen- 
tial to all men who do not wish to be plucked. 

What does the reader think of the knowledge 
demanded now from everyone wishing to become 
a simple chemist and druggist? This, be it re- 
membered, is the minor ■ examination ; if the title 
of pharmaceutical chemist be aspired to, the can- 
didate must render into good Latin prescriptions 
written in English ; must detect errors in Latin 
prescriptions, and know when a dose is unusually 
large. All the subjects of the first examination 
are carried further. The qualities of drugs and 
the means of distinguishing the genuine from the 
spurious, the laws of chemical combination, the 
Linnean system of botany, and De Candolle's 
natural system, must be known ; while the means 
of testing poisons, and the antidotes to be given 
in emergencies, are fair examples of the subjects 
in which proficiency must be shown. 



OUE PHAKMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 249 

It is clear that for such examinations as these 
special means of preparation are, if not necessary, 
at least highly desirahle. Some studious shop- 
lads may, and do, with the aid of textbooks, to- 
gether with apparatus purchased for the purpose, 
experimentalise, and solve practical problems until 
they are up to the required standard; but these 
cases are exceptional; and it is by attending at the 
medical schools of such places as Edinburgh, Man- 
chester, or Newcastle, or by spending some months 
in the laboratories of the society in Bloomsbury- 
square, that the requirements of the Pharmacy Act 
are most readily fulfilled. 

The last-named establishments are well worth 
a visit. To spend an hour in them during work- 
ing hours is to see an endless variety of experi- 
ments in pharmacy and practical chemistry, carried 
on by young men fresh from the counter, and who 
hope to return to it again. There are some fifty 
students busily employed at this time, each follow- 
ing an independent course of study, the scope of 
which is determined by his previous knowledge 
and future pursuits. One is analysing a mixture 
of food and water, and ascertaining by proved 
tests the nature and quantity of a poison said to 
be contained in it. Another has an artificial 
human stomach before him, and is testing its con- 
tents in the same way. The degrees of impurity 



250 OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 

found in water sent up from different parts of the 
country ; the effect of a given poison when mixed 
with liquids otherwise innocuous ; the operation 
of acids or alkalis under certain conditions ; and 
kindred problems, are being patiently worked out. 
Each student is provided with a working bench 
and lock-up cupboards, together with a variety of 
apparatus and chemicals, as well as fuel. Dis- 
tillation is going on in several places at once. 
Long glass tubes, with big heads like swollen 
walking-sticks, are being tapped as if for dropsy 
by small vessels, and sweat their contents out 
charily drop by drop. Such sweet trifles as am- 
monia and sulphuretted hydrogen stand among 
the crowd of bottles with which each student is 
supplied, and murky fluids are being handled and 
mixed on all sides. Still there is no smell to speak 
of. There is nothing half so bad as a cook-shop 
on a summer's day, or an Indian pickle factory 
all the year round. The laboratory chambers 
are at the top of the house, are very lofty, and 
their roof- windows are so arranged as to carry 
off all noxious vapours a few minutes after their 
presence is discerned. Nor is this all. Whenever 
the work in hand is likely to smell offensively, 
glass cupboards are employed which communicate 
with the outer air ; and during our stay the con- 
tents of half a dozen "beakers" and other strange 



OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 251 

vessels like bulbous dwarfs, might be observed in 
a state of fierce agitation behind windows, the 
flavour of any one of which, if inhaled, would have 
made assafoetida seem a rather desirable change. 
Once uncovered, however, they are shut up by the 
student engaged on them, who watches their pro- 
gress over the jet of gas within, or in the process 
of emptying by aid of syphons, from the pure atmo- 
sphere of the main room. 

The blow-pipe is a never-ending puzzle to the 
uninitiated. It is being worked in several places, 
and with the most curious effects. One young 
gentleman stands at a centre table in the midst of 
what looks like a heap of minced syringes, and 
plays with the broken glass with one hand, hold- 
ing in the other a broken bottle, one end of which 
he blows into a white heat as calmly as if he were 
a salamander. Another is apparently making the 
glass bubbles into which sweetmeats are sometimes 
put ; while a third and fourth are rapidly convert- 
ing some corpulent bottles with wide mouths into 
tubes of genteel slimness, wherewith some scien- 
tific legerdemain is subsequently gone through. 

Everybody is busy; and the earnest, absorbed 
faces about one make any question as to the 
steadiness of the pupils and their devotion to 
work superfluous. Apparently of the same social 
grade as the medical student, they feel the ne- 



252 OUK PHAEMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 

cessity of making the best use of their time ; for 
their means are perhaps slenderer, and the period 
to be devoted to instruction less. Indeed, the 
general fault is, that they work too hard : trifling 
with Nature in the way she most certainly resents, 
and giving up the time properly due to sleep and 
exercise to mental labour. This of course only 
continues until the examination is over, when 
they depart to their several destinations fairly 
cultured men. Such are the chemists and drug- 
gists of the future as settled by Act of Parliament. 
It will gradually become impossible that accidents 
should occur, or poisons be vended unwittingly 
through the ignorance of drug-dealing shop-keepers 
or shopmen ; and the calling will, by degrees, 
rank, and properly rank, next to the learned pro- 
fessions in the various towns and villages in which 
it obtains. 

A collateral advantage connected with such a 
practical school of pharmacy and chemistry as the 
laboratories of the Pharmaceutical Society afford, 
is that the leading principles of both sciences may 
be acquired by any one with twenty-five guineas 
and ten months to spare. For this sum and in 
this time a fair general knowledge may be ac- 
quired. There are connected with this admirable 
school two scholarships of the value of SOL a-year 
each, bequeathed by the late Jacob Bell — one of 



OUR PHARMACEUTICAL CHEMISTS. 253 

the founders of the society, and whose bust, pre- 
sented by Mr. T. H. Hills, is a conspicuous object 
in the hall — and several prizes of books and medals 
to be competed for by students. There are also a 
benevolent fund, and other advantages, open to 
members of the Pharmaceutical Society ; the 
authorities of which seem to have had the twofold 
object of securing by law that the public shall 
have its medicines dispensed by educated men, 
and of elevating the calling they preside over by 
making it conscious of a powerful corporate 
support. 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 

There is a spacious mansion close by Putney- 
lieatli and Wimbledon-common, which it is good 
to visit. Under the painful name heading this 
chapter, it provides a home for some of the most 
afflicted members of the community, and is a 
standing sermoii to all upon whom the fever of 
life presses hard, and who are discontented with 
their lot. Do your burdens seem too heavy for 
your strength ? Have you sorrows which embitter 
your life, and turn w^hat should be happiness into 
gall ? Are you mortified by the disappointments 
and w^earied with the crosses of the world? Do 
you sigh, and sigh vainly, for peace and rest, or 
for at least variety in your humiliation and pain ? 
Are you suffering from any or all of these phases 
of human trial ? Visit the Hospital for Incurables; 
and you will be forthwith carried out of yourself 
and your repinings by a feeling of sympathy and 
pity. On the other hand, are you among those 
w^hose lines have fallen in pleasant places, whose 
heaviest suffering has touched no vital part, and 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCUEABLES. 255 

whose creed and liabit is of that comfortable opti- 
mist kind which long -continued prosperity in- 
duces ? You also might with profit visit this 
Home, and ponder over the inscrutable wisdom 
which so apportions happiness and misery, that 
you are rejoicing in, or calmly tolerant of, the 
blessings of this life, while so many of your fel- 
lows know pleasure only in the cessation or mode- 
ration of pain. 

The Hospital for Incurables is one of the many 
institutions which owe their origin to the noble 
benevolence of the late Kev. Dr. Andrew Eeed. 
Towards the close of his useful life, it occurred 
to Dr. Reed that out of the innumerable medical 
charities with which England abounds, there was 
none for the reception of patients who were dis- 
missed from the hospitals as past cure. His 
efforts to supply the deficiency met with success, 
and in 1854 the present institution started into 
life. The beauty of the grounds and site first 
strike the visitor. Standing in a garden many 
acres in extent, commanding a view which has 
the mansions and plantations of Wimbledon -park 
as a foreground, and is flanked by a wide range 
of distant Surrey hills, the Home is exquisitely 
placed. Past the lodge-gate and up an avenue 
of ancient trees, and you are at its front door. 
It was a bright sunshiny afternoon at our visit, 



256 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 

and the contrast between the gay verdure of the 
trim lawn and flower-beds and the smiling peace- 
ful look of the landscape beyond them, and the 
helplessness and racking pains we knew to be 
contained in the great house before us, asserted 
itself at once. There are many invalid-chairs in 
the garden space to the left, and one deformed 
youth is being wheeled down the gravel path by 
a soldier in uniform. The latter, as we learn 
afterwards, i§ a relative, who is employing his 
periodical afternoon visit in giving his afflicted 
kinsman a ride. Basking in the sun by the side 
of the house are some paralytics, one of whom is 
smoking, while those around him talk and chat 
and twist themselves laboriously into easier atti- 
tudes in their chairs. 

A word of introduction to the matron, and we 
are courteously conducted over the Home. The 
entrance-hall is a portion of an old family mansion 
which the parents of the present Duke of Suther- 
land occupied for many years, and in the morning- 
room beyond. Sir Walter Scott, Lockhart, and Sir 
Humphrey Davy have often met. It has been 
converted into a day-room for the female patients, 
and is tolerably full. In easy-chairs, on couches, 
engaged on fancy-work, or gazing listlessly up at 
the ceiling or out of window, are afflicted women of 
all asfes and various deeTees and kinds of sufferins". 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 257 

The one thing they have in common is the impos- 
sibility, as far as man can see, of ever being re- 
stored to health. Here was a young woman with 
a bright eager smile and gentle expression, who 
was helplessly paralysed ; there, an old lady who 
had lost the use of her limbs, but who was em- 
ploying the only two fingers she had available on 
Berlin wool. 

There is no uniform dress, save that worn by 
the attendants, and nothing in the room or its 
furniture to mark it as part of a charitable in- 
stitution. A spacious sitting-room, into which 
the morning - callers of a month or so have been 
all aggregated, is the first impression it gives ; 
for the moulding and medallions on the walls, the 
pictures and books, and the organ given by the 
treasurer, Mr. Huth, all combine to give the place 
a cheerful habitable look. Many of the patients 
betray no sign of the infirmities under which they 
labour ; the sufferings of many others are only 
discovered when personal investigation succeeds 
the first glance round. The greatest marvel is 
the benign cheerfulness on nearly every face. 
There are no sick-room meanings, no sick-room 
expressions anywhere. The matron herself has 
one of those contagiously beaming countenances 
which are a blessing to their possessors, and her 
tone and manner are advisedly of the briskest. 

s 



258 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 

To aYoicT showing the afflicted that you think 
them in pitiable case, and to seem to accept 
chronic pain and permanent helplessness as com- 
mon conditions of life, are the points to aim at 
when visiting and conversing here ; and it was 
positively startling to see how thoroughly those 
addressed caught this spirit in their replies. 

But, save for our presence, the great room is 
very quiet. The occupants of the sofas and re- 
clining chairs are in acute pain, or are perma- 
nently crippled, or are dulled by repeated fits, 
and are all without hope of ever discharging the 
duties or enjoying the blessings of life. To be 
carried down from the floor on which theii' sleep- 
ing-chamber is, to hobble painfully, or be wheeled 
to its lift ; to take up one position in the sitting- 
room, and to keep it all day; to know that to- 
morrow will bring no change, unless it be in 
increase of pain ; and to look to the end of life 
as the only solace ; — this is to be smitten deeply 
with incurable disease. 

There is a wistful look on some of the faces 
turned wearily to the windows, as if the buds and 
tender leaves of spring sent thoughts wandering ; 
and a general air of patient waiting over all. You 
do not master this at first. The cheerfulness 
with which your inquiries are met, and the bright 
interest which lights up each countenance directly 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 259 

its owner is addressed, throws the visitor off his 
guard. Perhaps expecting something repulsive, 
the mere every-day snugness of the sitting-room, 
with its sheltered nooks and cosy coteries of neatly- 
attired gentlewomen, leads observation astray. For 
there is a something in the general aspect of the 
place which differs utterly from anything you have 
ever seen or heard of, or imagined ; it puzzles you to 
define it to yourself; and it is only when by what 
seems an incongruous association of ideas — for no 
two things could be more dissimilar in accessories, 
occupants, and surroundings — the waiting-room 
of a railway- station occurs to you, that the vagrant 
simile is caught and remains fixed in the memory. 
For behind all their genial cheerfulness and pa- 
tient gratitude these poor people know empha- 
tically that they are waiting for the end, and it 
seems as if each one were sitting there for the ex- 
press purpose of receiving her summons of release. 
We pass upstairs, and through neat, light, and 
pleasant chambers, in which the bedridden are 
living. " It's a most beautiful view from this 
window," said one lady, who gracefully did the 
honours of her room ; '' and when it's a little 
clearer, the Crystal Palace is easily seen ; so that 
when I'm tired of my lace-work, I just lean back 
on my pillow, and draw this curtain on one side, 
and look at it." Then, in reply to questions from 



260 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCUEABLES. 

the matron, we learnt that "the patient was much 
easier" to-day, and that the sight of the bright 
sunshine and spring freshness had done her good. 
Again, all was so cheerful — so chirpy, if we may use 
the word — that the matron's remark, "one of our 
greatest sufferers, has intense and almost constant 
pain," came with an actual sense of surprise. In 
another room were two old ladies, one of whom 
had been confined to her bed for thirty years, and 
who "tried to make the best of it," as she said, 
and who evidently succeeded; while her neigh- 
bour, who had been rendered helpless by rheu- 
matism, smilingly "hoped this beautiful weather 
would give her a good deal of relief, though it was 
trying at first, as all changes were." The last 
speaker could just move herself to and from her 
work-table, but could not rise from her chaii' — a 
piece of furniture which had been thoughtfully 
adapted to her wants ; wheels and castors being 
so arranged that its occupant could move it gently 
with her elbows, and infinite relief had been af- 
forded by the limited power thus given. One 
handsome young woman, who looks the picture of 
happiness, and who assures us she "has very 
good health," is literally dead from the chin down- 
wards. Her winsome face, intelligent eyes and 
thick brown curls, come before us as we write, 
for it was difficult to believe that they belonged 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 261 

to a paralytic. This inmate has taught herself to 
write with her teeth, on a rest which the nurse 
arranges for her on herhed; and she showed some 
of her writing with an innocent pride it was very 
agreeable to see. 

It was pleasant to note in this and the other 
rooms the efforts to give them a cheerful look. 
Books and periodicals were lying about, and there 
were pictures on the walls. Such of our readers 
as have a superfluity of either of these things may 
be reminded that they could not put them to a 
better use than by giving them to the Hospital 
for Incurables, where there is a constant demand 
for both, and where they are not mere luxuries, 
but substantial alleviations of life. 

Through many rooms, some containing men 
and others women, all in pitiable case, all being 
cared for thoughtfully and tenderly, and all bear- 
ing glad testimony to the comforts of their home, 
and we are taken to the men's sitting-room down- 
stairs. Our inspection has included the room not 
usually shown, and the dwellers in which labour 
under maladies which make them painful to the 
eye ; and has ranged over almost every room. 
One door is closed to all but doctor and nurse, for 
the poor creature within is more than usually ill, 
and the word has gone quietly round among her 
fellow -inmates that she is passing away. It is 



262 THE HOSPITAL FOR INCUEABLES. 

astonishing to learn the position in life which 
many of those we see have filled. There are pro- 
fessional men who have been struck down just as 
their position and prospects seemed at their best, 
but before they had made provision for the future; 
commercial people upon whom a cold hand has 
fallen when their schemes and hopes were ap- 
proaching fruition ; educated labourers in various 
walks, to whom paralysis has come suddenly, like 
a grim spectre calling them to solemn account for 
neglected regimen and overwork. Down in the 
sitting-room men are talking quietly, but with the 
same curious air of waiting we noted before ; and 
one old fellow lies blind and helpless on a settle 
by the door. He is unable to move without help ; 
but his face is ruddy and his voice strong, and he 
tells us lustily how he has been many years in 
the institution, and how grateful he is for all the 
comforts he enjoys. 

We should mention that the asylum only re- 
presents a portion of the good worked by the 
institution. Pensions of 201. a-year are granted 
to sufferers who have a home, but no means of 
support ; so that the invalid is relieved of the 
pain of dependence, while the family circle is un- 
broken. We hear this, and of the vast number of 
additional patients the new wing will accommo- 
date when finished, as well as of the comprehen- 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 263 

sive views of duty taken by the committee. The 
shadows have grown longer as we walk down the 
broad walk, again pondering on the change which 
has come over the faded lives of those who were 
once as busy and struggling, perhaps as ambitious 
and strong, as people we know outside. 

Surely this Home for Incurables is a place to 
see. Most of us find time for some or other of 
the exhibitions, the festal gatherings, the pro- 
menades, the concerts, the drives, the pleasant 
idlenesses of which the London season is full. 
When an odd hour can be spared from these en- 
grossing things, can it be bestowed better than on 
this Putney Home ? To see how 

** Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased ;" 

to learn that pain is less subject than pleasure to 
caprices of expression ; and to make comparisons 
between your own career and the pathetic life- 
histories you see written out by an omnipotent 
hand ; and to remember that but for this institu- 
tion its poor inmates would have had to contend 
with the horrors of abject poverty in addition to 
their other ills — all this has a wholesomely chas- 
tening effect upon the mind. If it be good, as 
moralists tell us, to step aside occasionally from 
the bustle and turmoil, the shouting and the pos- 
ture-making of our Yanity Fair ; if it be good to 



264 THE HOSPITAL FOE INCUKABLES. 

suspend the material aims, the fierce ambitions, 
the passionate activities of life, and to give it mo- 
ments of quiet reflection and solemn thought, 
assuredly there is neither sanctuary nor shrine 
where these ends can be better achieved than 
here. If those who are fighting the battle of life 
erect and strong should, out of their great abund- 
ance, extend succour to fellow-sojourners, who 
were perhaps as courageous and active as them- 
selves until they were mysteriously selected to 
fall wounded by the wayside, they may at least 
be satisfied that their liberality will be blessed. 

Concerning some charities, doubts may arise 
as to whether they engender any of the miseries 
they profess to relieve ; but no sort of cavilling 
can arise here. These people have been struck 
down by an irresistible power, and ask only to 
spend the remnant of their broken lives uncom- 
plainingly and in quiet. Our immediate object, 
however, is not so much to plead for material aid, 
though hundreds of the incurably afilicted are 
waiting patiently at the institution's door until 
the public generosity shall admit them, or until 
they die — sometimes for lack of the comforts their 
sad condition demands — as to ask that the expe- 
rience we record shall be shared. The Home 
itself is its own best advocate; and in the hope of 
promoting visiting, we announce that what we 



THE HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLES. 265 

have described may be seen on any week-day, 
between two and five, by tlie simple process of 
ringing the gate-bell of the well-known house on 
West Hill. 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FEEE- 
MASONEY ? 

Extolled as the true faith ; denounced as an off- 
shoot of Satan ; praised by crowned, and banned 
by tonsured heads ; dreaded as a subtle political 
engine, and admired for its profound indifference 
to politics ; the essence of goodness according to 
some men, and the spirit of evil if you listen to 
others, — Freemasonry is as complete a mystery to 
the uninitiated as when the mythical lady hid 
herself in the lodge clock-case, or the equally 
mythical American citizen was slain for tampering 
with its secrets. Listen to the words of wisdom, 
according to Brother Stodgers, P.M., and you will 
learn that men may be Freemasons for years with- 
out penetrating the arcana of the order ; may at- 
tain divers dignities without comprehending their 
true import ; may die in the fulness of masonic 
parts without having emerged from masonic baby- 
hood ; and after having spent as much time and 
labour on the art as would, to put it modestly, 
suffice for the acquisition of every European 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONEY ? 267 

tongue, yet fall short of the supreme distinction 
of being "a good mason." Whether, as the elder 
Mr. Weller, and the charity-boy he quotes, re- 
spectively remarked of the institutions of holy 
matrimony, and of getting to the end of the al- 
phabet, it be worth while going through so much 
to learn so little, is, I hear the cynic whisper, 
entirely a matter of opinion ; but that neither the 
labour involved nor its reward is under-estimated, 
the most superficial knowledge with the subject 
proves. 

Brother Plover and myself have some right to 
our opinion, for we are past-masters, mark-masters, 
and royal arch companions — are officers of our 
chapters, and treasurers of our lodge. What our 
mutual and horsey friend Tibbins irreverently 
calls our " plated harness," involves medals, 
jewels, and ornate ribbons for our manly breasts, 
aprons for our fronts, and broad collars like those 
worn by knights of the Garter (but handsomer) 
for our necks. The Victoria Cross is an ugly 
excrescence compared to the costly decoration 
given me as a testimonial by the brethren of my 
mother lodge; the clasps to the jewels of some 
of our friends exceed in number those of the oldest 
Peninsular veteran ; and we calculate that we might 
now be Sanskrit scholars of some eminence had 
we thought fit to serve that language as faithfully 



268 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONKY ? 

as we have served the craft. Upon sordid money 
considerations we scorn to dwell. Initiation fees, 
exaltation fees, fees for advancement, emergencies, 
subscriptions to charities, to lodges, and for special 
purposes, make up a pretty sum to look back upon ; 
and if the upshot of it all were but the amusement 
and gratification derived, I am not prepared to say 
that we have had full value for our money. Joy- 
ous evenings, periodical feasts (in which some- 
thing else flows besides soul), mutual compli- 
ments, and pleasant friendships, may all spring 
from other sources than what Burns called "the 
mystic tie." 

With the warmest appreciation of the plea- 
sures of freemasonry, I, for one, should renounce 
the whole paraphernalia of colours, aprons, and 
gewgaws, were I not satisfied of their practical 
value, and deeply impressed with their usefulness 
in stimulating to benevolent impulses and charit- 
able deeds. This is, in truth, the chief virtue I 
care to claim for the order, in this country and in 
these times. Abroad, the Freemasons, so fiercely 
cursed by his Holiness the Pope, may mix up 
democratic caballing with their ceremonials, and 
play an important part in the spread of liberal 
principles, but in England, religious and political 
discussion are alike forbidden in lodge ; and though 
in the olden days, when skilled craftsmen worked 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONEY ? 269 

together in travelling bands, leaving magnificent 
monuments of civilisation and piety in their train, 
the objects of association were better understood, 
they were not more practical in their results than 
now. It is impossible to belong to a masonic 
lodge, or even to eat masonic dinners with regu- 
larity, without helping to support some of the most 
noble charities in the land. 

You are caught, we will say, by the promise of 
festivity and the hope of enjoyment. You know a 
jovial set, and would like to be one of them ; and 
you are in due course proposed, elected, and ini- 
tiated in some masonic body. From that moment 
you are a cog in a mighty wheel, and can no more 
help moving with the rest of the machinery in the 
direction of good works than you can avoid wear- 
ing your apron when on duty in your lodge. Your 
earliest lesson is that of charity and toleration ; 
but the great advantage of the rules of the com- 
munity you have entered is, that no individual 
demerits or torpor can long withstand their bene- 
ficial tendency. Other precepts you may neglect 
or ignore. Your private life may be far from irre- 
proachable. You may be depreciated by your fel- 
low-members as " a knife-and-fork mason" — that 
is, one who cares more for the table of the tavern 
than the table of the law — and may be quoted by 
outsiders in proof of the evil effect of belonging 



270 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 

to a secret society. All this rests with yourself. 
Even what we call the inner mysteries of our 
order — mysteries which it takes so much time 
and application to master and comprehend — do 
not pretend to alter character. A selfish man 
will be a selfish mason, a churlish man a churlish 
mason, a conscientious man a conscientious ma- 
son, to the end of time. 

It is wiser to disclaim all legerdemain, and 
freely confess that no purifying or awakening 
talisman is given to the masonic neophyte. The 
knowledge imparted is moderate in extent, and 
the man obtaining it finds that he has but learnt 
the rudiments of an elaborate sj^stem, the true 
bearing of which is veiled in allegory and illus- 
trated by symbols. Those who sneer at masonic 
symbols, who ask with conventional irony why 
masons cannot accomplish the good they profess 
to seek without donning aprons and bedecking 
themselves with glittering baubles, should, to be 
consistent, denounce symbolism altogether. Take 
the House of Commons, and note the precise for- 
mality with which old rites and customs are ob- 
served there, and say whether the solemn Speaker 
would look as wise and dignified in a shooting- 
jacket or a dressing - gown ; and whether the 
quaintly wigged and go^oied figures below him 
are not more appropriately attired than if they 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FEEEMASONRY ? 271 

wore the paletot and wide-awake of country life. 
Eegard the throne with its surroundings of velvet 
and ermine and jewels and gold ; the pulpit with 
its conventional black and white ; the bench with 
its time-honoured robes ; the bar with its wigs 
and gowns ; or, turning to private life, remark 
how the symbolism of dress and ornament attends 
us from the cradle to the grave. The white dra- 
peries of the christening ceremony, the orange- 
flowers and favours of the wedding, the ghastly 
mockery of the nodding black feathers on the 
hearse, are surely as open to criticism as our 
masonic blue-and-white aprons, or the gay orna- 
ments. 

Freemasons, let it be remembered, rarely ob- 
trude their finery on the outer world. There are 
other excellent societies, the members of which 
periodically break out in buff boots and green 
tunics, or march with linked fingers through the 
town, to the clashing of wind instruments, and 
behind banners bearing copy-book axioms of ap- 
proved morality. But with Freemasons it is a 
point of honour not to wear the costume of their 
craft, or any adornment pertaining to it, save in 
their own lodges. To do otherwise — to flaunt 
collar, apron, or jewel in other places — is a serious 
masonic offence, and one censured with severity 
by the authorities. The sole exception to this 



272 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 

rule is some important public occasion, when a 
dispensation is granted by the grand master of the 
order, and the first stone of some great building- 
is laid, or the remains of some distinguished 
brother is committed to the earth. The excep- 
tional character of these occurrences entitles us to 
the boast that our symbols are only worn for the 
benefit of those who understand them, and to 
whose technical knowledge they appeal. In some 
cases, they mark the rank of the wearer, like the 
soldier's uniform ; in others, the practical good 
he has effected, like — shall we say, the bishop's 
mitre ? 

Each division of the order, called a lodge, is 
ruled over by certain officers, who are appointed 
by its master. To be eligible for this high post, 
you must have served in one of two subordinate 
offices for twelve months, and must be sufficiently 
skilled in what is called the " working," to con- 
duct the elaborate rites creditably. The first con- 
dition is imperative; the second is sometimes 
evaded, though neither the master accepting office, 
nor the lodge electing him, acts up to the bounden 
obligation when this is the case. The cost of free- 
masonry depends almost entirely upon the lodge 
you join, and is governed by the habits of the 
brethren composing it, and the bye-laws they have 
themselves agreed on. The broad rules control- 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 273 

ling all lodges, and all Masons owing allegiance 
to the Grand Lodge of England, are things apart 
from these bye-laws, though the latter have to be 
formally sanctioned as containing nothing opposed 
to the book of constitutions or the leading prin- 
ciples of the craft. 

Each lodge meets several times a-year, and in 
London the members usually dine or sup together 
at the conclusion of their " work." The master, 
the past-masters, and the two wardens, are all 
members of the masonic parliament ; in this way 
every Freemason has directly or indirectly a voice 
in the government of the order. Each past-master 
has been master of a lodge for twelve months, and 
both master and wardens are elected by their fel- 
lows. The masonic parliament meets four times 
a year, and is called Grand Lodge. Its debates 
are held in the really magnificent temple in Great 
Queen -street, London, which has been rebuilt 
under the auspices of the grand superintendent 
of works. Brother Frederick Cockerell, and is the 
property of the craft. It is presided over by a 
grand master, who is nominally elected every year, 
but who is eligible for reelection, and who is, as 
some Masons think unwisely, virtually appointed 
for life. Once in every year, some one is proposed 
and seconded as a fit and proper person to fill the 
position of grand master, and the votes of those 

T 



274 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONEY ? 

assembled in Grand Lodge are taken. Tlie pre- 
sent grand master of English Freemasons, the 
Earl of Zetland, who succeeded the late Duke of 
Sussex, is so widely and deservedly popular, that 
he has held this position for more than twenty 
years. The propriety of limiting the grand mas- 
ter's eligibility for office, and electing him for four 
or six years and no longer, is a point upon which 
there is considerable difference of opinion, and one 
which it is unnecessary to do more than allude to 
here. 

The grand master is aided by a council, and 
supported by grand officers, who may be termed 
the upper house of the masonic parliament. These 
dignitaries are appointed by the grand master, 
hold office for a year, have past rank, and wear 
distinguishing insignia for life. All questions of 
masonic law — and problems affecting these are of 
constant occurrence — all difficulties of administra- 
tion, all disputes and dissensions — and, despite 
their brotherly love, even Masons occasionally 
quarrel — can be brought before Grand Lodge as 
the final authority. Committees of its members 
sit regularly to adjudicate and present periodical 
reports, advise on the bestowal of money-gifts to 
necessitous brethren, and on the answers to be 
given to those asking for interference or advice. 
The time devoted to the subject, by those who 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 275 

take a leading part in these councils ; the patient 
unwearying attention given to minute and fre- 
quently tedious details ; the constant sacrifice of 
private interests to the common good ; and the 
careful and laborious discussion which precedes 
every decision — all this would astonish those who 
regard freemasonry as a mere plea for conviviality. 
It is a simple fact that busy professional men 
habitually devote a considerable portion of their 
time to business drudgery ; that boards and com- 
mittees meet to debate and divide; that in no case 
is remuneration or reward looked for. 

This voluntary self-absorption is not the least 
striking part of freemasonry, for, at the meetings 
I speak of, neither convivial pleasures nor indirect 
personal advantage can be hoped for. It is sheer 
dogged hard work, performed gratuitously and 
cheerfully by men upon whom the rules and pre- 
cepts I have hinted at, have made full impression. 
Let it be borne in mind that more than ten thou- 
sand initiations take place in a single year ; that 
the income of the craft exceeds that of many a 
principality; that its members subscribe to their 
three charitable institutions — the Freemasons' 
Girls' School, the Freemasons' Boys' School, and 
the Asylum for Aged Freemasons and their Widows 
— some twenty thousand pounds annually; that 
the cares of administration and distribution de- 



276 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 

Tolve upon tlie busy men forming the committees 
and sub-committees named ; and it will be readily 
seen tbat, apart from its ^^ secrets," this time- 
bonoured institution lias worked, and is worldng, 
substantial and undeniable good. Its bold on 
earnest members is the best proof I can advance 
of the reality of its tie. 

But it is time you saw one of the institutions 
we are so proud of. Let us take a railway-ticket 
from either Waterloo or Victoria Station, and after 
a twenty minutes' run alight at Clapham junction. 
A few minutes' bewilderment in the dreary sub- 
terranean caverns of that mighty maze ; a few 
abortive ascents up steps which are so ingeniously 
placed at the sides of the tubular dungeon we tra- 
verse as to lure us upon wrong platforms, whence 
we are sent below again ignominiously ; a short 
game at question and answer with the old crone 
selling oranges at the corner ; and, crossing an- 
other railway-bridge, we are in front of a spacious 
red-brick building, on the lofty tower of which, 
besides the clock, are a pair of compasses and a 
blazing sun. 

We will not stop to talk farther about sym- 
bols now. After admiring the spacious well- 
kept garden of this place, and enjoying the 
sweet scents rising up from every flower-bed, we 
make for the front-door, when the sharp click of 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OP FEEEMASONRY ? 277 

a croquet-mallet reaches us from the right, and, 
turning a corner, we come upon a thoroughly 
happy party. Some twenty girls, from twelve to 
fifteen years old, are laughing merrily at the 
vigour with which one of their number has just 
sent the ball rattling through the little croquet- 
hoops. 

The healthy, happy, laughing group framed 
in by foliage, and relieved by the bright green 
of the velvety turf upon which they play; the 
frankly modest confidence with which we, as 
strangers, are received ; the courteous offer to ac- 
company us round the grounds and the house ; 
the revelation that, as this is the matron's birth- 
day, every one is making merry in her honour — 
are all a capital commentary upon the masonic 
virtues I have vaunted. 

Next, we learn that some ladies and gentlemen 
are playing in another portion of the grounds, and 
in a few paces we are in their midst, being wel- 
comed by house-committeemen, are hearing that 
our chance visit has happened on a red-letter day, 
and that other brethren are expected down. The 
speaker is an exalted Mason who has five capital 
letters after his name, and, as I have never seen 
him out of masonic costume before, it does not 
seem quite natural that he should play croquet 
without his apron and decorations. This gentle- 



278 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 

man (who will, I am sure, accept this kindly- 
meant remembrance in the spirit dictating it) is 
SO pleasantly paternal, his exuberant playfulness 
and affectionate interest in the games played, and 
in the pretty little players, is so prominent, that 
I soon forget his grander attributes, and settle 
down to a quiet chat on the discipline and rules 
of the establishment. 

This is the Freemasons' Girls' School. It 
clothes, educates, and thoroughly provides for, 
one hundred and three girls, who must be daugh- 
ters of Freemasons, between eight and sixteen 
years of age, and who are elected by the votes of 
its subscribers. The comfort of its internal ar- 
rangements, its spotless cleanliness, the healthi- 
ness of its site, the judicious training and con- 
siderate kindness of its matron and governesses, 
are themes we descant upon at length ; the rosy 
faces and unrestrained laughter of the children 
bearing forcible testimony to us. The committee 
of management visit this school frequently and 
regularly, and their deliberations generally ter- 
minate in a romp with the school-girls. The little 
gardens, some with paper notices pinned to the 
shrubs, with, " Please do not come too near, 
as we have sown seed near the border. — Signed, 
28 and 22," written in pencil in a girlish hand; 
the healthy cleanly dormitories ; the light and airy 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FBEEMASONRY ? 279 

glass-covered exercise-liall, where the young people 
drill and dance ; the matron's private sanctum, 
which is like a fancy fair to-day in the extent and 
variety of the gay hirthday-presents laid out ; the 
tea-room, where we all have jam in honour of the 
matron's nativity ; the board-room, hung with the 
portraits of grand masters and masonic benefac- 
tors, and which is placed at our disposal that we 
may enjoy a quiet chat with the two dear little 
girls in whom we have a special interest, are all 
visited in turn. 

Then a procession is formed, and '*We love 
Miss Smoothetwig dearly, and so say all of us !" 
is sung, while Brother Buss, P.M. and P.Z,, who 
has just come in, and Brother Putt, G.A.D.C., 
his fellow house-committeeman who has already 
welcomed us, beat time joyously to the good old 
"jolly good fellow" tune. This song is a little 
surprise prepared every year for the birthdays of 
governess and matron, and the amiable assump- 
tion of delight at an unexpected novelty which 
beams from the latter's kindly face when the well- 
worn tune is sung, is not the least pleasing in- 
cident of the day. 

The Freemasons' Boys' School is at Wood- 
lane, Tottenham, and in it from eighty to a hun- 
dred sons of Freemasons are clothed, educated, 
and provided for, with similar comfort and com- 



280 WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 

pleteness. The institution for the relief of aged 
Freemasons and their widows, though neither so 
wealth}^ nor so Hberal as the other two, provides 
an asylum for, and grants annuities to, the old 
and infirm. 

These are some of the secrets of freemasonry. 
The coffins in which, as many of my friends firmly 
believe, we immure young and tender candidates ; 
the painful brandings which make sitting down 
impossible ; the raw heads, red-hot pokers, and 
gory bones, with which we heighten the awesome- 
ness of our dreadful oaths ; the wild revels and 
orgies which some ladies believe in, — must be 
left in obscurity. Having shown the fair fruits 
of masonry, I must leave you to form your un- 
aided judgment of the tree which brings them 
forth. Besides, I dare not reveal more. The 
learned author of many volumes of masonic lore 
has stated his firm conviction that Adam was a 
Freemason, and that the order, and its accom- 
panying blessings, extend to other worlds than 
this. I offer no opinion on any such highly imagi- 
native hypothesis, but confine myself to the stout 
assertion that Freemasons have a tie which is 
unknown to the outer world, and that their in- 
stitution is carefully adapted to the needs, hopes, 
fears, weaknesses, and aspirations, of human na- 
ture. That it has unworthy members is no more 



WHAT IS THE GOOD OF FREEMASONRY ? 281 

an argument against the order, than the bitter 
sectarianism of the Rev. Pitt Howler, and the 
fierce uncharitableness of Mrs. Backbite, are ar- 
guments against Christianity. 



AGAINST THE GKAIN. 

(1865.) 

Against the grain we went in searcli of tlie low 
Betting - Men, and against the grain we found 
them. After earnest consultations with persons 
learned in their crooked ways ; after studying 
their literature, and hearing many a story of their 
nefarious cunning ; after holding commune with 
experienced members of the metropolitan force, 
and learning from all sources that personal con- 
tact and face - to - face intercourse were essential 
to the comprehension of their evil natures and 
corrupt pursuits, — our distasteful explorations were 
inaugurated by a trip to " the Euins." Not the 
picturesque ruins of abbey or castle ; not a spot 
familiar to picnic parties and beloved of artists ; 
not a crumbling old mansion, with haunted cham- 
ber and ghost-walk, with traditions of murder and 
dreary look of desolation ; but a large blank space, 
like an exaggerated pound, in which the noble 
sportsmen of Whitechapel and Seven Dials were 
daily congregated. These were the creatures we 



AGAINST THE GRAIN. 283 

had decided on looking for ; — tliese were the crea- 
tures we found against the grain. For, after in- 
festing for years the vast area of waste ground 
between the Farringdon - road and Saffron - hill ; 
after impudently vaunting their superiority to the 
law, and their right to make bets in public, — the 
disreputable crew of small book-makers, touts, 
thieves, and tipsters, who gave the ground an 
unholy fame, and made it, as ^' the Kuins," fa- 
miliar to the lower grade of turf followers all over 
the kingdom, have been *' moved on" to a narrow 
thoroughfare behind one of the great London 
breweries; and here they bet, and lie, and shuffle, 
in an atmosphere pleasantly laden with the flavour 
of malt and hops, and with the aromatic grain 
heaped above and behind them in great profu- 
sion. 

Wonderful were the stories concerning the 
impotence of the police; and profound was the 
belief in '' the Kuins" as a stronghold. The com- 
mercial prejudices of the narrow-minded dwellers 
in Bride-lane, City, had certainly triumphed over 
the lovers of sport ; and out of a mistaken defer- 
ence to the petty interests of trade, the patrons 
of the turf had been forcibly removed. But here, 
at "the Euins," who had a right to interfere? 
Not the authorities of the Refuge for the Home- 
less Poor just opposite, nor those of the Metro- 



284 



AGAINST THE GRAIN. 



politan Eailway station, nearer still ; nor the 
Italian handicraftsmen, organ-keeepers, plate-glass 
polishers, monkey and marmozet boys, who form 
the population on the western side. Field-lane 
even, though denuded of its festoons of purloined 
handkerchiefs, and now steadily aiming at re- 
spectability, could not decently make a protest. 
Saffron - hill did not understand its rights, and 
would not exercise them if it did ; and " the 
Ruins," flanked and surrounded as it is by such 
localities, was clearly designed as an oasis in the 
cold desert of London, upon and from which 
lovers of the turf and those interested in the pre- 
servation of the manly sport of betting, might 
flourish and hold forth. 

Quiet wayfarers passed with a shudder, or 
meekly crossed the road. Knowing omnibus- 
drivers pointed to the shouting disreputable crowd 
with a sportsman-like jerk of the whip-hand; news- 
paper essayists described the foul spot and its 
customs ; argumentative reasoners quoted the act 
of parliament, and made it clear that the words 
" house or place" could not apply to " the Ruins;" 
and the public and the authorities seemed to 
concur in the notion that here bets could be 
booked, and lists kept, and fools swindled, in spite 
of special enactments, and in defiance of the law. 
Now and again some troublesome nobody would 



AGAINST THE GEAIN. 285 

take exception to tliis condition of things, and an 
indignant letter would find its way into the papers ; 
but the rule seemed to be that policemen and 
magistrates, beadles and moralists, should wink 
at what they knew to be wrong, but which, by 
some strange freak of parliamentary wisdom, could 
not be boldly grappled with and put down. 

All this came to an end a few weeks ago. ** The 
Kuins" were enclosed by a hoarding instead of 
posts and rails, and all trespassers warned off 
under legal penalties, by the authorities of the 
City of London. Attempting to meet on the ad- 
jacent pavement and roadway, they were sum- 
marily cautioned against causing an obstruction, 
and if recalcitrant, were taken into custody by the 
metropolitan police. A double jurisdiction ob- 
tains in this district ; and while the City consta- 
bles had power over the list-keepers who ventured 
in the enclosure. Sir Kichard Mayne's merry men 
pounced upon them if they presumed to pitch 
their tents in the street. It seems but a prosaic 
ending to such a grandiloquent and apparently 
successful protest against conventionality, but 
neither difficulty nor delay attended the rout when 
it was once determined on ; and after one or two 
feeble attempts at self-assertion, the frouzy black- 
guards to whom "the Euins" had seemed a pri- 
vileged Alsatia, slunk away into congenial holes 



286 AGAINST THE GRAIN. 

and corners, and were no more seen. So, at least, 
thought the reformers. But, as if in obedience 
to the physical law which declares that nothing 
shall be destroyed, and that what we call destruc- 
tion is only another name for change of condition, 
the nuisance was transferred, and now flourishes 
in rank luxuriance against the brewery grain. 

Starting from a police-station in a long flagged 
court in St. Giles's — a police-station so modestly 
retiring that it seems to be playing at hide-and- 
seek with its customers, and to have won the game 
— the first evidence we have of the contiguity of 
the noble sportsmen is furnished by a gentleman 
who comes to prefer a charge. A tall fresh-look- 
ing man of fifty, a prosperous farmer, or perhaps a 
country attorney with a good seat across country ; 
this gentleman nervously twiddles two small bits of 
pink pasteboard — not unlike the checks given for 
readmission to the theatres — and with a troubled 
expression — ^half indignation, half shame — on his 
good-tempered florid face, explains that one piece 
of pasteboard represents three pounds, and the 
other two pounds ten. He staked these sums 
upon the horse which came in firsb yesterday, and 
on applying this morning for the money he had 
consequently won, the list-keeper, although then 
prosecuting his calling, had first laughed in his 
face, and subsequently threatened to ''punch his 



AGAINST THE GRAIN. 287 

head if lie didn't hook it, and that (adverb) quick 
too." Staggered and discomfited, the luckless 
winner now came to the police-office, with a vague 
hope, which his own common sense obviously told 
him to be baseless, that some steps might be 
taken to punish the swindler, and indemnify him 
for his loss. Clearly not a case for the police. 
Perhaps a summons in the county court for the 
money borrowed might answer the gentleman's 
purpose; perhaps some means of exposing the 
fraudulent list-keeper might occur to him; but his 
money was gone for ever, and the best advice that 
could be given him was, " Don't bet with stran- 
gers in the street again." 

We saw the ^' Welsher" — is it not a dubious 
compliment to the Principality that this should 
be the slang name for turf-defaulters, who are at 
once petty and fraudulent ? — a few minutes after- 
wards, calmly pursuing his vocation amid a crowd 
of his fellows. The victim was detailing his wrongs, 
and showing his tickets as corroborative evidence, 
within earshot of the swindler, who smoked a cigar 
in the intervals of shouting '' I'll lay four to one, 
bar one !" with imperturbable calm. No one 
seemed surprised, or shocked, or indignant. The 
farmer was stared at as he told his little story, 
with a sheepish, woe-begone look on his jolly visage, 
which made it wonderfully ludicrous ; and then the 



288 AGAINST THE GRAIN. 

starers elbowed tlirougli the crowd to gaze on tlie 
Welsher, who was decidedly the more popular of 
the two. The mournful, "He won't even answer 
me, and says he'll punch my head," was heard 
concurrently with the jubilant, " I'll lay four to 
one;" and three half-crowns went into the pocket 
of the list-keeper for a fresh ticket, while within 
a few paces the worthlessness of his promises 
was being half-timorously, half-indignantly pro- 
claimed. 

We are by this time in the thick of the jostling 
and shouting crowd. A narrow street destitute 
of shops and dwelling houses, the huge brewery 
forming one side of it, and the back of warerooms 
in Oxford-street filling up the other, this place is 
not unlike a long and narrow prison-yard. The 
height of the dull and dirty brick walls, the ab- 
sence of windows or other signs of habitation, the 
circumscribed area, and the lack of view, strengthen 
this comparison. But the prisoners have run riot, 
and discipline is at an end. " How do, Tom ?" 
remarks with careless dignity one of the two de- 
tectives who kindly accompany us. "How do 
you do, sir? Fine morning, isn't it?" replies a 
fat coarse fellow, who looks like a fraudulent pig- 
jobber in reduced circumstances. He is the first 
sportsman we speak to, and after scanning his vil- 
lanous countenance, we learn with much satisfac- 



AGAINST THE GHAIN. 289 

tion tliat ''he's just had six months for theft." 
Our companions are speedily recognised, and the 
word is passed that some one must be " wanted." 
This is uniformly effected by a whisper from lips 
twisted as if practising ventriloquism, and in such 
fashion that the sound proceeds in an entirely 
opposite direction to that of the speaker's cunning 
eyes and shifty face. The list-keepers are ranged 
in an unbroken line from one end of the street to 
the other. The lists are mounted upon poles, 
the odds for each forthcoming race being printed 
upon small white cards, of the size and shape of 
photographic cartes de visite. These are placed 
side by side, the proprietor waiting for victims, 
and in most instances his clerk or partner booking 
the bets as soon as made. There are between 
seventy and eighty of these lists, and we are assured 
that it is only about ten per cent of this number 
who are " square." In other words, nearly all 
the vociferous blackguards we see pocketing shill- 
ings, and half-crowns, and sovereigns, are thieves, 
or skittle-sharpers, or three-card men, or their 
associates. They may redeem their pledges and 
pay the money they lose, but only if it suits their 
pocket to do so ; and as to-day is the last great 
turf event of the year, the probabilities of " bolt- 
ing" are greater than usual. 

Amid the crowd of dupes and hangers-on is 

u 



290 AGAINST THE GEAIN. 

a leaven of respectability. Kailway - guards in 
uniform are "putting on" small sums on com- 
mission for country clients. That shiny-looking 
man, whose stiff black curls protrude from under 
his wide-brimmed hat, and whose rounded face — 
of a polished red and yellow, like a Normandy 
pippin — speaks somehow of the footlights, is one 
whose name is familiar to us as the advertised 
'' only successor to Grimaldi." He is no list- 
keeper, but has come to invest some of the pro- 
ceeds of ''Hot Codlins" and " Tippety-Witchet" 
with the great Mr. Gather, who is one of the few 
trustworthy men here. " Good for thousands ; 
has a house in Great Bustle-street, and a tidy 
little farm in the country; keeps two clerks to 
book his bets for him, and is as safe as the 
Bank of England." Such is the character we have 
of Mr. Gather, who, as he leans against the wall, 
is beset by dozens of people eagerly holding out 
gold and silver, which he drops mechanically into 
the pocket of his brown overcoat, saying in a mono- 
tone, " Fours — Harlequin — right." " Sevens — 
Disappointment — right." A fresh-coloured rather 
anxious-looking man of thirty, with a fair mous- 
tache and smooth cheeks, Mr. Gather neither 
smiles nor speaks further, save when the crowd 
becomes more than usually oppressive, when 
^' Please keep back, those who don't want to 



AGAINST THE GBAIN. 291 

bet," is extorted from him in a melancholy voice, 
and with a weary air, as if even unbounded suc- 
cess as an out-door betting-man had its draw- 
backs, and as if, in the duties involved in that 
high position, there lurked corresponding cares. 

Blight and Lovenote is also a firm in which 
unlimited confidence may be placed, and we show 
our faith in this testimony to character by mod- 
estly putting half-a-crown upon the favourite of 
the day. Neither the name of the people we bet 
with, nor that of the horse we back, nor the sum 
we pay, nor the sum we are to receive if he wins — 
he made what the sporting papers subsequently 
called " a bad fifth" — are given on the ticket we 
received from Blight. " Four half-crowns — Fa- 
vourite, Jem," to the clerk; and the pleasant 
clink made by our half-crown, as it joins the half- 
crowns of other investors, in the capacious pocket 
of the firm, is the only evidence afforded us of 
our contingent rights. So when another respect- 
able list-keeper is pointed out to us — our com- 
panions select the honest men out of the crowd, 
and show them as curiosities ; much as a gardener 
would point out a singular case of grafting, or a 
rare exotic which had been transplanted without 
injury — we are checked in our desire to give him 
money by the candid words : ''I can't afford to 
lay a fair price, for my book is full." As this 



292 AGAINST THE GKAIN. 

man pays wlieii he loses, lie makes calculations 
as to tlie state of his book. 

Not so the ordinary run of list-keepers here. 
The proverb as to all being fish that comes to 
net, is rigidly acted up to, and the terms they 
offer are not unfrequently threefold the market 
price. Above their lists are printed a name, 
generally assumed, and an address, almost always 
fictitious. Bound them, besides their clerk or 
partner, stand a little group of associates, who 
make sham bets, or who volunteer false informa- 
tion with genial readiness. That man in the 
loose claret paletot, and the large glass-headed 
pin in his shabby stock, has been known to the 
police for the last twenty years as living *' by 
besting people." " Besting," we learn, is a playful 
term for gaining an unfair advantage, and applies 
equally to the three-card trick, to skittle-sharping, 
to fraudulent tossing, and to larceny. That bullet- 
headed ruffian, who is truculently shouting out the 
large odds he'll give, is a convicted thief; and 
the short bristly hair you see fringing the back 
of his fleshy neck was last trimmed and cut in 
the prison he has just left. The Jew whom we 
afterwards see greedily calling for hot pork-sau- 
sages at the tavern round the corner, as if to 
realise that combined " gust of eating and plea- 
sure of sinning" craved after by Boswell's friend, 



AGAINST THE GRAIN. 293 

and whose name is familiar to every reader of 
police - reports, was a night - house keeper near 
the Haymarket, until the bill for the early-closing 
of refreshment - houses was passed. He winks 
knowingly to his fellows as we come near his 
stand, and with mock earnestness solicits us to 
j)ut " a trifle on." 

" Who are the other list-keepers ?" repeat our 
friends the detectives. ^' Cross-men, every one of 
'em. By cross-men, meaning men on the cross ; 
men, in fact, who'd rob you if they could. 
There's a man now" — indicating, with a quiver 
of the eyelid, a bull -necked muscular scamp in 
Si. frogged coat two sizes too small for him — 
" there's a man who'd garrotte you the very 
minute you gave him a chance. That fellow 
next him has been in prison three times to my 
knowledge, and the big man booking that young 
butcher's half-crown used to keep a gambling- 
house and take a table round to the races." A 
retired publican, who's lost all his money; a cab- 
owner, who's been through the court ; a broken- 
down gentleman's servant, who's lost his character 
and can't get. another place ; a clerk in the City 
who was up for embezzlement, but wasn't con- 
victed, — these were the descriptions given of some 
of the list - keepers, whose comparatively decent 
look made us ask their history. 



294 AGAINST THE GBAIN. 

But tlie preponderating scum was of a much 
less reputable character, and a large majority of 
the workpeople, shopboys, small tradesmen, and 
country people, who, either in person or by deputy, 
invested their small sums, placed them in the 
hands of men whose calling has been to batten 
upon the public from their youth up. " Is Sir 
Kichard a - goin' to move us from here next ?" 
asked a pock-marked vagabond in a long drab 
coat. *' I hope not," was dryly given in reply, 
and the emphasis was so marked that the ques- 
tion, " Yy so? — vot difference would it make to 
you?" naturally followed. "We should be troubled 
with so many burglary cases," was quietly ans- 
wered ; whereupon drab-coat leered and grinned, 
as if to return thanks for the compliment paid 
to the predatory instincts of himself and friends* 
The experience was unvaried during our stay. A 
stooping, slouching fellow, with a battered ugly 
face, was pointed out as an ex-champion in the 
prize-ring, who had since taken to betting, and 
who now kept a list "on the square;" and we 
chatted with three old women like modern witches, 
with stout cotton umbrellas for familiars, who are 
to be seen here daily, and who back horses and 
talk on "merits" and "performances" and pedi- 
grees with a full mastery of stable slang. " The 
brewery people ain't likely to interfere," we learnt^ 



AGAINST THE GRAIN. 295 

" because these betting fellows spend tbeir time 
and their money in public - houses, and it's good 
for trade ;" and as long as the foul sore their pre- 
sence implies keeps in its present locality, it may 
perhaps be permitted to fester on with impunity. 

One thing is worth remarking. After an hour 
or two's sojourn, we adjourned to converse on the 
characters and antecedents of some of the men 
we had just left. On our return, neither the con- 
victed ^'Welsher" nor his stand could be seen. 
" There's been a little fuss up yonder, and they've 
bonneted a cove as wouldn't pay!" was the in- 
formation vouchsafed to us, and we failed to learn 
anything more specific. Plenty of eager inform- 
ants to tell us there had been a row, but none of 
these would confess to having witnessed it, or that 
they knew its precise nature. Whether the in- 
jured farmer had hired hangers-on to pay those 
punching compliments to his debtor, which had 
been so freely promised to the farmer himself; 
whether he had taken the law into his own hands 
and boldly fought it out ; or whether, out of de- 
ference to the presence of my friends, a council 
of war had been held in our absence, and the other 
fraudulent list -keepers had forcibly urged their 
brother to depart for the common good, we could 
not learn. The men were gone, and " Judas's 
telegrams from the course" were being sold from 



296 AGAINST THE GEAIN. 

their late standing-point. We purchased one of 
these, and on opening its sealed envelope were edi- 
fied by reading : " The only one I'm afraid of is 
No. 13, blue 1. He is very fit and strong. Signed 
for Judas, T. Scroper." What " blue 1" meant, 
or who was "fit," could, of course, only be known 
to Judas's initiated clients ; and we preserve the 
magic tissue-paper as one more of the many use- 
less purchases accumulated during a desultory life. 
Soon after two p.m. the street began to clear. 
*' From eleven to two is their time for business, 
so as to catch the workmen in their dinner-hour ; 
and you'll often see three men club together to 
make up half-a-crown to put on a horse they 
fancy." Before three the lists and list-keepers, 
the huge gig umbrellas with ''From the Kuins" 
painted in large black letters on their white ging- 
ham covering, the bonnets, victims, hangers-on, 
and thieves, the boys with the handicap-books, 
the respectable countrymen, and the ornaments of 
the prize-ring, had departed. At four the same 
day the place was a solitude, broken only by the 
brewer's drays in which the bags of grain were 
being dexterously piled, and from which the rope, 
half hemp, half metal, ascended and descended 
with monotonous rapidity, twining and writhing 
as it went, like some monstrous serpent, into the 
ear-like wooden excrescences near the roof above. 



AGAINST THE GEAIN. 297 

Tlie same scene goes on daily during the 
racing season, and similar nests of ruffianism are 
known to exist elsewhere in London. For two 
or three hours in each day, common swindlers 
openly practise their calling with impunity, and 
they so choose their hours as to prey upon the 
class which can afford it least. The small mi- 
nority of solvent men — the people who gamble 
legitimately, pay when they lose, and bet upon 
scientific principles — have, to the uninitiated eye, 
nothing to distinguish them from their thievish 
compeers ; and the workmen or shop-lad who 
foolishly risks his money in Grain-land, does so, 
as was proved by what we saw and heard, in most 
cases, with the certainty of never seeing it again. 
This is surely a case in which the strong hand of 
authority might be exerted with advantage, and 
the exodus from " the Kuins" be follov\^ed by a 
like purifying process elsewhere. That men will 
gamble, and that horse-racing is a national amuse- 
ment, are not pleas for the encouragement of open 
fraud. It is time that the miserable nonsense 
about "upholding English sports," and "inter- 
fering with the pastimes of the people," was ex- 
ploded and put down. The sport here is of that 
gay and festive character for the encouragement 
of which we build prisons and maintain hulks. 
The sportsmen, apart from the honest minority 



298 AGAINST THE GEAIN. 

we have instanced, are jail-birds, or men at open 
war with society. The nuisance as it exists now 
is a far worse pest and deeper disgrace than the 
petty tavern sweep-stakes and small list-houses, 
which were, amid a chorus of national self-praise,, 
put down by act of parliament a few years ago. 

It would be curious to know how far the im- 
punity accorded to these scoundrels is due to that 
superstitious veneration for what is called " the 
old school," and that servile admiration of "pa- 
trons of the turf," which is one of the most curious 
weaknesses of English society. The finest speci- 
men we ever knew of the class to whom it is the 
fashion to apply these stock phrases was always- 
unexceptionably dressed in drab cords, top-boots, 
and a blue body -coat with brass buttons. He 
was blessed with a hale and hearty constitution,, 
regular features, a florid complexion, and venerable 
white hair. Apart from his clothes, his personal 
advantages, and his love of horse-flesh, his chief 
peculiarities were excessive testiness, a dislike to 
reading, a habit of taking more liquor than was 
good for him, and of swearing in his drawing- 
room. Whenever he distinguished himself in any 
of these capacities, we looked admiringly at the drab 
cords and the brass buttons, and murmured ap- 
provingly of his love of sport, and of his undoubted 
right to the title of a fine old English gentleman. 



AGAINST THE GRAIN. 299 

He was not particularly wise nor particularly use- 
ful in his generation, and but for the peculiar 
fascination of his dress, flippant people might 
have thought him uninteresting and dull. All 
his weaknesses — improvidence, coarse language, 
and incapacity — were, however, accepted as so 
many virtues, out of deference to his attachment 
to the turf. This was among a pastoral people, 
by whom he was regarded as a sort of king ; but 
our experience in Grain-land makes us ask if the^ 
same sort of fetish worship exists among those 
entrusted with the execution of the law, and whe- 
ther a purely supposititious connection with the 
race-course is held to entitle detected swindlers 
and convicted felons to prey upon the credulous 
and ignorant, without dread of punishment or' 
prospect of interference. 



ARISTOCEATIC PIGEON- SHOOTING. 

It would be difficult to find a more charming 
suburban retreat than Huiiingham-park, Fulham. 
" The New Eed-house and Kiver-side Club," as it 
has been recently dubbed, gives but an inadequate 
notion of its quiet retirement and silvan beauty. 
" The Red - house !" — coupled, too, with the 
"river-side" — suggests the dreadful tavern, now 
no more, which made Sunday hideous, which 
caused the steamboats to be crammed with cheap 
and noisy pleasure-takers, and made the old Bat- 
tersea-fields the centre of the kind of jollity we 
associate with Bartlemy or Greenwich fair. Don- 
key-boys from Hampstead-heath, pigeon-fanciers 
from Spitalfields, Jew cigar-vendors from White- 
chapel, the "knock-'em-downs," three-card men, 
hawkers of cheap jewelry, Punch-and-Judy shows, 
the sharpers and " bonnets" of our race-courses, 
were all crowded together to shout and swear on 
Sunday evenings in the vicinity of the Red-house. 
The tavern itself was respectably conducted, but 



ARISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 301 

tlie grounds near it had the fortune to collect 
together as motley and boisterous a crew as Lon- 
don could furnish ; and the Ked-house is a syn- 
onym with most people who remember it for 
coarse and turbulent enjoyment, and rough-and- 
ready deeds. 

But it had a smack of sporting too, and shoot- 
ing-matches were held to be its specialty. The 
new Eed-house — or, as most people prefer still to 
call it, Hurlingham-house — is the reverse of all 
this, save that, like its departed namesake, it is 
supported by both sexes, is situated on the banks 
of the Thames, and is devoted to the slaughter 
of pigeons. But these points of similarity ad- 
mitted, the divergence is complete. The " red" 
of Hurlingham, instead of being the blaze of 
coarse colour appropriate to a public-house, is of 
the mellow respectable sort we all admire in 
ancient palaces and well-established country-seats. 
It is quiet, secluded, aristocratic. No vulgar 
omnibus or fussy coach runs by its gates ; no 
noisier thoroughfare than '' the silent highway" 
can be seen from its park or grounds. The ple- 
beian who seeks to visit it for the first time had 
better lose himself about Parson's-green, and then 
select the quietest and most retired lane he can 
find to take him to his destination. Down this — 
not without a passing sense of wonder at the 



302 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 

green fields and fresli country on either side of 
liim, — and our representative stranger finds a 
lodge to liis right, beyond which is a spacious 
avenue of grand old trees. But for the glimpse 
he has had on his way of some new oak-palings, — 
suggesting, in their unpainted freshness, a re- 
cently-erected circus or show, — coupled with the 
^harp and continuous crack of gun-firing beyond 
them, he would have hesitated at stopping. As 
it is, he asks one of the policemen who are loung- 
ing near the lodge - gate whether this be the 
suburban club he is in search of; and then, 
showing his credentials to the lodge-keeper, he 
passes through a handsome private garden up to 
an equally handsome, old-fashioned, private house. 
Through this, again, and noting that it is only 
partially and temporarily furnished, and he is on 
a grassy and flower-bedecked bank, looking on to 
the Thames. 

Once admitted by the lodge-keeper, he is free 
of the place. The garden he is in now is full of 
rich and varied beauty. The river glides swiftly 
by the lawn and the sloping banks to the left, 
while, hidden by the umbrageous trees which 
bound the grounds by the west, are Putney-bridge, 
Fulham Palace, and the modest little house still 
pointed out as the whilom residence of Theodore 
Hook. But turning from the water and looking 



ARISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 303 

into the grounds, the leafy splendour of the noble 
trees, — the one feature in landscape-gardening 
which money cannot buy ready-made, — the quiet 
calm of the shady vistas, and carefully-protected 
grassy knolls to right and left, extort admiration 
•even from the least observant. The place is so 
•calm and still and beautiful, that it is difficult 
io realise that it is only a short drive from 
the most bustling parts of London ; and one pro- 
ceeds in the direction of the shooting-ground with 
a vague sense of staying at a country-house with 
a mixed party to dinner in the evening. For here 
^nd there among the trees and shrubs may be 
-seen a light and wavy robe or two, a bit of bright 
■colour, or a gay head-dress ; and the soft sound 
of feminine laughter floats upon the air as we 
proceed. Through the gardens, and past more 
fine oaks and elms, greenhouses, retired paths, 
undulating grass-plots and flower-beds, and a 
park is reached, in the best part of which is a 
spacious enclosure, separated from the rest by the 
oak-palings previously seen. The house and gar- 
dens and park, the retirement, the cultivation, the 
beauty, are all dependent upon what is taking 
place here. 

These things are kept up that pigeons may be 
killed. Here is a grand-stand, which is unoccu- 
pied to-day, through the wind being, as we are 



304 AKISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 

told subsequently, in ''the wrong quarter for kill- 
ing from it;" and those who would have filled it 
occup}^ a long line of chairs upon the grass. 
Youth and age, beauty, rank, fashion, culture, 
high names, and lofty lineage, are all present. 
The ladies seated with their attendant cavaliers 
come first. Whatever England has to show of 
refined and high-bred beauty is to be seen among 
them. The most ancient blood and the most 
graceful forms, the people, not who are admitted 
amongst, but who themselves constitute the crcmc 
cle la crcme of modern society of both sexes, are 
here. The arrangements are admirably suited to 
their purpose, and every fair sitter has a full view 
of half-a-dozen little square boxes, — like those for 
bonbons, — which are stationed in a row from 
twenty to thirty yards from the line of chairs. 
Each box contains a pigeon, which it liberates by 
coming to pieces directly the string attached to its 
roof and sides is pulled. The instant the bird 
moves it is shot down. 

A little lower down, but in the same line with 
the ladies, the gentlemen are seated who have 
come unattached; and from these the pigeon- 
shooters principally come. The July Handicap of 
five sovereigns each, and confined to members of 
the Hurlingham Club, was shot for on the after- 
noon of our visit. Among its competitors were 



ARISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 60b 

peers of various ranks — peers of tlie future, from 
the lieir to a dukedom downwards ; members of 
the House of Commons, baronets, officers in the 
army, including at least one whose valour in the 
field has been rewarded by the Victoria Cross ; and 
county gentlemen with historic names, and great 
London " swells" by the score. Each of these 
had been handicapped by Mr. Frank Heathcote, 
one of the leading authorities of the world on this 
particular phase of sport, and followed each other 
in rapid succession to the firing-place. The dis- 
tance at which they stood from the pigeons varied 
according to skill and reputation ; but in no case 
was the person firing more than twenty-eight or 
less than twentj^-one yards from the bird he aimed 
at. It is superfluous to add that a general slaugh- 
ter was the result. (At twenty-one yards, accord- 
ing to Cunningham's Handbook of London, the 
crack shots of the old Red-house would always 
back themselves to kill nineteen pigeons out of 
twenty-one.) Guns, ammunition, loaders, and at- 
tendants behind the chairs ; a table with scorers 
and list-keep'ers in front; long strings running 
from the little boxes to the table-feet, and men to 
pull them when each shooter has taken his place 
and given the word ; a pile of hampers, from 
which the pigeons were taken alive to the boxes, 
and to which they are brought back dead by an 

X 



306 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 

Ugly but sagacious black retriever, made up the 
properties of the scene. 

The proceedings lasted through the afternoon,. 
and every bird shot at was wounded, and with few 
exceptions killed. It was said that the pigeons 
supplied were less strong on the wing than usual, 
and were quiet and frightened, and that the wind 
impelled them to fly on to the guns. Whether 
this was so or not the betting -men — without 
whom no English sport, however aristocratic, 
would be complete — made a harvest by laying 
three, three and a half, and even four to one, that 
the bird would die. Those who backed the gun 
always won ; and as fast as each man killed his 
pigeon another was carried out, — from a hamper, 
through the chinks of which, by the way, those 
waiting their turn could see their fellows shot 
down, — and the box put together again to de- 
tain it. 

It was capital fun for everybody but the pigeons. 
The fair young girls and aristocratic matrons 
watched it eagerly, and sat with scoring-card and 
pencil in hand, noting down the performance of 
each of their male friends. To an uneducated eye 
the element of sport seemed wanting, for the sim- 
ple reason that the wretched birds had no chance 
of escape. Each gentleman was allowed to fire 
two barrels, and the second of these effectually 



AKISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 307 

accomplished what the first began. Now and 
again a wounded bird would essay to fly out of 
the deadly enclosure, and then all present watched 
its agonised struggles with real anxiety ; for if it 
got beyond the prescribed limits to die, it was pro- 
nounced ''No bird," and the gentleman shooting 
it lost the score. This set the betting-men, both 
amateur and professional, on tenter -hooks, and 
fresh offers and new bets were made. Once a 
pigeon which had been hit, but not killed, sought 
shelter in the spreading branches of one of the 
trees under the shade of which the ladies sat. It 
was badly wounded, and gave a piteous little cry 
as it alighted. A few seconds' suspense, during 
which the backers of gun or bird anxiously looked 
upwards while making and taking fresh bets as to 
whether it would die ; and their suspense was 
ended by a mangled mass of palpitating flesh and 
warm blood and feathers falling plump into a lady's 
lap, to the infinite detriment of the pale and deli- 
cate dress she wore. To seize the quivering little 
moribund, and with a dexterous wring of the neck 
to put it out of its misery, was of course but the 
work of a moment to the gentleman at her side ; 
but blood does not harmonise somehow with la- 
vender-silk and pretty laces, and though the inci- 
dent evoked much laughter from both the ladies 
and gentlemen present, it brought the nature of 



308 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 

tlie spectacle tliey were enjoying rather forcibly 
home. 

The feathers of departed birds were floating in 
the air like moths on a summer's evening, a pile 
of large hampers was filled with the slain, one 
wounded bird which had got away was endeavour- 
ing to balance its wearied body on the palings, 
the dog which picked up the fallen was almost 
beaten with fatigue, and the odds against the 
birds were going up steadily at the time we left. 
But ladies were still flocking in, and every variety 
of fashionable vehicle and a crowd of liveried ser- 
vants were in waiting at the doors. The grounds 
looked lovely as ever, and hurrying through them 
to the killing-place were the elegant figures to be 
seen on Drawing-room days and at botanical 
fetes. 

"Whatever else pigeon-shooting may be, it is 
undoubtedly the aristocratic amusement of the 
hour. Yet it is difficult to absolve it from cruelty, 
and cruelty to dumb animals was once held to be 
the distinguishing vice of the low and base. To 
torture these has been described as "the certain 
mark of ignorance and meanness — an intrinsic 
mark which all the external advantages of wealth, 
splendour, and nobility cannot obliterate." But 
diff'erent times have different manners, and to see 
hundreds of the birds universally regarded as the 



ARISTOCEATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 309 

type of innocence mercilessly and painfully slaugh- 
tered from seats so conveniently placed that not 
a flutter of the ruffled plumage, not a gyration of 
the dying agony, not a helpless struggle to use 
again the pinions which have been destroyed, not 
a confiding look when the poor wretch sits down 
and, without attempting to fly, looks its destroyer 
piteously in the face, is missed — to see these 
things closely and minutely is a cherished amuse- 
ment with the classes to whom all amusements 
are within reach, and whose station and advan- 
tages entitle them to be looked up to and emulated 
as examples. 

Two days after the experience recorded, we 
were present at a boors' shooting-match in a Sur- 
rey field. Nothing could be more vulgar and com- 
monplace than the surroundings, nothing coarser 
or more essentially plebeian than the men. Spar- 
rows were the birds here, the prize was beer instead 
of sovereigns, and the spectators were the rough- 
est of the rough. 

But they gave their birds a chance, and they 
had left their womenfolk at home. Some- 
times a whole cluster of sparrows escaped scot- 
free, frequently only one or two out of a batch 
were killed, and no female was in sight. The sig- 
nificance of such pigeon-shooting as we saw at the 
exquisite Hurlingham grounds lay in the murder- 



310 AEISTOCRATIC PIGEON-SHOOTING. 

ous certainty with which each aristocratic sports- 
man fell upon his poor little prey, and the keen 
relish and close interest displayed hy the delicate 
and exclusive crowd of ladies looking on. 



A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. 

Teavellees by the Midland Railway see a large 
station in course of erection between Hendon and 
the Finchley-road, which rouses their curiosity. 
There is neither town nor village within sight ; 
the station which does duty for Hendon and the 
district adjacent is only a few hundred yards 
ahead ; and as the eye wanders over the pleasant 
meadows and thick foliage skirting both sides of 
the line, and then notes wonderingly the propor- 
tions of the railway-buildings nearly completed, 
men ask each other what these last are for, and 
why they are here. It is evidently a large station, 
with extensive platforms, booking-offices; and wait- 
ing-rooms. There is a signal -house on posts, 
which, after the manner of those erections, peers 
over the country as if from stilts, as well as the 
other apparatus of a considerable traffic. But you 
look in vain for residences near. Wood and water, 
pasturage, sheaves of cut corn, cattle and horses, 
there are in abundance ; for the land hereabouts 
is rich and fruitful, and the farming good. Look- 



812 A SUBUKBAN FISHERY. 

ing to the right on your way clown the line, you 
see nothing but fields at this particular spot ; but 
the left-hand view gives you a roadside house and 
gardens, situate on the banks of what seems to be 
a river as wide as the Thames at Putney. You 
trace this river deviously winding in its full breadth 
for a mile or more until it is hidden by a bend in 
the tree-covered headland ; and when, if you are a 
veritable stranger, you ask its name, the meaning 
of the railway-buildings, and the history of the 
sheet of water, together with the uses and the 
joys of the mansion near it, are told you in a 
breath. 

'^ The Old Welsh Harp Station" is, as you 
learn at the Old Welsh Harp itself, to be the name 
of the new stopping -place for Midland trains* 
This one tavern, you gather, brings down so many 
passengers from London as to need the railway 
accommodation of a good - sized market - town ; 
and, though the authorities have, doubtless, well- 
founded convictions as to the residential traf&c of 
the future, it pleases the gallant sportsmen of the 
Harp to consider themselves the sole cause of a 
new station being thought necessary. The river 
turns out to be a large artificial pond a mile and 
a quarter in length, and of some three hundred 
and fifty acres on the surface ; and is, in fact, the 
Brent reservoir of the Eegent's Canal Company. 



A SUBURBAN FISHERY. 313 

The fish, with which it is plentifully stocked, 
tempt down Cockney anglers in every station of 
life, and, on such an afternoon as this, the 
punts and rods at work may he counted up in 
scores. We may say at once that though there 
are countless other attractions connected with the 
Harp — large dinners, small dinners, singing-par- 
ties, garden-parties, occasional horse-racing and 
pigeon-shooting, music and the dance, our present 
business with it is as a fishery only, and that the 
anglers and angling to he seen, and if you wish 
it, to be joined there, form its leading features, on 
off-days. So think many a clergyman, doctor, and 
lawyer. So thought Prince Lucien Bonaparte the 
other day when, as you are proudly told, he spent 
some hours on the waters of the Harp, catching 
much small fish, " for which he has a special 
relish and don't mind how small they are." 

The anglers here are divided into two classes 
— the annual subscribers, and the casual customers 
who pay by the day. For a guinea a year you 
may fish for jack from the first of June to the last 
day in February, on the understanding that you 
return any jack of less than a pound weight into 
the water. You are required to fish with a rod 
not less than six feet in length, and " no trimmer, 
peg-line, or net is to be used, except a landing or 
keep net." Should the supply of water run low, 



314 A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. 

whicli does not often happen, you are expected to 
limit your fishing to two days a-week, after notice 
to that effect has been given by the proprietor, 
who also reserves to himself the right ''to stop 
the angling altogether in the event of their being 
a scarcity of water, and upon his giving notice in 
BelVs Li/e.'^ Subscribers are further "requested 
to prevent encroachments on these rules ; also to 
confine themselves to gentlemanly language." In 
addition to jack there are abundance of silver eels, 
carp, tench, and bream ; and the anglers who pay 
by the day are subdivided into those charged half- 
;a-crown for jack-fishing, and those charged one 
shilling for catching, or trying to catch, the other 
varieties. 

We learn these details on board the good yacht 
Madoline, " called after a song you may have 
heard," and on which we have embarked from 
" the pontoon put up for the Prince of Wales and 
the aristocratic pigeon -club, that they might prac- 
tise at shooting birds over water before they went 
io Paris, where all the matches are done so." In 
this yacht we explore the whole of the fishery, 
tacking and re-tacking so as to catch the faint 
puffs of wind, and listening to wondrous stories 
of heavy takes of fish. Eecords of these are kept 
with strictness ; and to learn that 179 fine pike 
or jack were caught on the first day of the season 



A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. 315 

of 1869 seemed a fitting introduction to the feats 
of individual prowess we heard of later on. That 
the curate of a certain well-known metropolitan 
parish, and the popular rector of an equally well- 
known suburb, delight to run down here, and each 
betaking himself to his own familiar corner land 
loads of fish, is a pleasant thing to hear of. So, 
in a different way, is it inspiring to know that the 
original genius who introduced the Perfect Cure 
to the world, and one of his fellow comic-vocalists, 
,-are among the most successful fishermen visiting 
the Harp. " Mr. W. Eandall, sir, he killed four- 
teen jack from three pound to eleven pound each 
on the 14th June ; and Mr. Stead he caught eleven 
jack in the first week in June, one of 'em weighing 
fifteen pounds and a quarter, which isn't what 
you'd call dusty, is it ?" Other names are quoted 
as belonging to the great fishermen of the year ; 
and members of Parliament, aldermen, and other 
dignitaries are rattled off" in rapid succession, each 
with a label round his neck, as it were, of the 
quantity he has caught. To the late Alderman 
Harmer belongs the credit of taking the largest 
fish found in the Harp waters, a jack weighing 24 
pounds ; and though 370 of these voracities had 
been caught in the weeks preceding our visit, 
nothing weighing more than sixteen pounds had 
been found among them. 



316 A SUBURBAN FISHEEY. 

But these are tlie deeds of the great guns — 
the Izaak Waltons, the Cottons, the Stoddarts of 
the place. Out of the hundred annual subscribers, 
there are many such; but it is the day-fishers- 
with whom we are chiefly concerned — the men 
who "try the water" because it is the thing to do, 
and whose angling is original in its conception,, 
and primitive in its accessories. These come down, 
in their thousands every year. Scarcely a day 
passes without some great middle-class or trade 
banquet taking place, and the United Tailors or 
the Associated Button-moulders, having first eaten 
pleasantly at two or three in the afternoon, pro- 
ceed to fish. At our visit there were five separate 
gatherings of this kind, and, after convivial songs 
and speech-making, many a diner set to work with 
rod and line with as much zest as sportsmen of 
another kind can possibly be displaying at the 
moors. 

The vast sheet of water is strangely rural in 
its surroundings, and when on it or at its banks 
you need reminding that you are but five miles 
from the Marble Arch. There are not a dozen 
houses in sight. The low -lying meadows are 
backed up by umbrageous trees, and the hay- 
stacks and droves of well-fed cattle at the large 
dairy-farm to the left carry you in imagination far 
away from the smoky town. It is very quiet too,. 



A SUBUEBAN FISHERY. 317 

ihe noise of the railway-wliistle being the chief 
thing heard ; and the little spire of Kingsbury 
parish church peeps out of a framework of oak- 
leaves, and looks rusticity itself. As the day goes 
on, the fishermen become more and more nume- 
rous. The high-road assumes a processional cha- 
racter, and brakes hired for the day, knowing little 
carts drawn by swift ponies, velocipedes, gigs, and 
modest phaetons, combine to bring the anglers 
■down. There is room enough for all, and as the 
Madeline sails slowly by the different sets, she 
teaches those on board her the strangely-various 
modes in which fishing is possible. Yonder is a 
master watchmaker from Clerkenwell, who, first 
seating his wife and children in a compact group, 
as if to be photographed, and at a prescribed 
number of yards from himself, "feeds the water" 
solemnly, while his hostages eat buns. There is 
too much small fish in it already he opines, and 
this always makes pike lazy ; but he keeps in good 
heart, and exercises himself eccentrically with a 
line. Not far from him are two United Tailors 
asleep in a punt, and this reminds our pilot of 
the old gentleman last summer, who took somo 
frogs for bait and some big bung-corks for floats, 
and who was found snoring in his punt hours after ^ 
wards, " with the frogs squatting on the corks 
in the water, and as it were laughing in his face." 



318 A SUBURBAN FISHERY. 

Next we drift slowly by an enthusiast from one of 
the great linenclraper's shops, who is spending his 
Saturday half-holiday up to his anldes in water, 
which he whips as if with a flail. Then comes 
a salesman from Billingsgate, who, not having 
enough of fish in the ordinary way of business, is 
looking on delightedly at the hauling-in of roach 
and carp by his companion and friend. 

There are young ladies fishing, too, and the 
fixing the bait and adjusting their line give oppor- 
tunities for tender attentions which their fellow- 
anglers are too gallant to miss. Now stalks with 
mock solemnity across the fields a detachment 
from another Welsh Harp, where there is no 
water. The detachment consists of half-a-dozen 
damsels and as many swains, armed with fishing- 
rods. They form in open order, and march across 
the sward down to the pontoon, stopping only at 
the word "halt," and dressing to the right and 
left at the word of command. Round the corner, 
and by the outfall, where the Canal Company's 
officer lives, and from which there is a telegraphic 
communication with its head office concerning the 
depth of the water, we see a family boat in which 
everybody, from the. baby upwards, is angling. 
There is not much fish in the basket, and jocu- 
larly evasive answers are returned to questions 
concerning their haul ; but there is abundant 



A SUBURBAN FISHERY. 319 

merriment, and when the boats turn tavernwards 
for tea — an important meal at the Harp — there 
is a joyous comparing of notes, in which, strange 
to say, every one seems satisfied. 

There is something recalHng the traditional 
relations between mine host and his guests in the 
warm greetings and cordial invitations which pass 
between the proprietor of the Harp and those as- 
sembled there ; and when the museum comes 
to be visited, we learn from men who "haven't 
missed coming here on a Saturday for the last 
ten years," how "it's all Mr. Warner that's made 
the fishing what it is." " There is wild -duck 
shooting in the winter, and herons are constantly 
caught," and we are referred to Harting on the 
Birds of Middlesex for further particulars of the 
Harp's capabilities in that direction. But it is 
the fishing which peculiarly marks the Harp in the 
season as one of the most curious of London plea- 
sure-places. The intense love shown for the rod 
and the line, and the regularity with which men 
come down from the most confined and most re- 
mote districts of London to use them, would seem 
remarkable to persons unaware how deeply rooted 
is the love of sport in the heart of the true Lon- 
doner. You see this love of fishing strongly deve- 
loped at certain well-known villages on the Thames, 
but for concentration of numbers and diversity 



320 A SUBURBAN FISHERY. 

of character in a given space, the waters of the 
Welsh Harp are unrivalled. The talk is all of 
lishing at certain times ; and whether you dine 
at the eighteenpenny ordinary on Sundays, or 
lounge about the grounds or lake on a Saturday 
afternoon, you are sure to hear strange gossip 
respecting the prowess of the anglers, as well 
as some hitherto-unnoticed habits and customs 
among fish. 



GENII OF THE EING. 

(1866.) 

The ring is a prize-ring, and the genii are pugil- 
ists. The cabaHstic signs and words used by the 
latter ; the magical effects produced and the rapid 
changes effected on the human face by the weird 
mysteries they practise ; the strange rites observed 
by them, their laws, penalties, and rewards, have 
always had a painful fascination for me. I am 
pained that I can never hope to be affiliated, and 
fascinated because the fortunate beings whose at- 
tributes I covet are, by virtue of their magic, en- 
dowed with strange strength, skill, and hardihood, 
and are apparently impervious to blows and shocks 
which would stretch ordinary mortals lifeless on 
the ground. As unlawful magicians they would 
be worth studying, but it is as professors of a more 
or less recognised art we have to consider them 
now. Their hopes and fears, emotions, pleasures, 
sorrows, cares — how far do they differ in these 
from you and me, from the tradesman who sells 
us beef and mutton, from the inventor of a new 

Y 



322 GENII OF THE EING. 

piece of mechanism, from tlie painters of pictures 
and the writers and readers of books ? 

Bent upon gauging this, I sought and obtained 
an introduction to the editor of a journal (and let 
me add, a really upright and honest journal) which 
is known wherever the English tongue is spoken ; 
a journal whose boast is that it never sleeps ; and 
which, having long survived the generation of 
bucks and bloods and Corinthians to whose tastes 
it ministered originally, is still the guide, philo- 
sopher, and friend of the great sporting world. 
Few things have surprised me more than the con- 
trast between the newspaper-office of my imagina- 
tion and the newspaper-office of sober fact. Every 
expectation I had formed was falsified by results. 
The printers were not slangy ; the sober decorum 
of the boys, messengers, and clerks was such that 
they might have been in the service of an evan- 
gelical magazine ; while the gentlemen composing 
the editorial department were the gentlemen of 
society, the gentlemen you meet in clubs and 
drawing-rooms, and, so far as I saw, without a 
fox's head or a horse's hoof amongst them in the 
way of ornament. Had the compositors smacked 
of the race-course, the literary staff been unmis- 
takably fast, the publishers loud, and the boys 
and messengers redolent of stable-talk, I should 
have accepted all as the appropriate condition and 



GENII OF THE KING. 323 

surroundings of a great sporting organ. Instead 
of this, I was politely welcomed in an establish- 
ment which is not merely sedately respectable in 
tone, but is one where the kindliness and good 
feeling existing among its members are so obvious 
and marked as to convey the impression of a family 
party in some Utopia where relations never quar- 
rel. The constant chronicling of prize-fights, the 
weekly analysis of studs, the commenting week 
after week upon the "performances" of horses, 
the "points" of dogs, and the scores at cricket 
and billiards, have had no effect on the demeanour 
of those deputed to discharge these trusts. Hav- 
ing seen the offices of newspapers celebrated for 
the strictness of their principles and the purity 
of their tone, I declare that of The Sleepless Life 
to excel them all in its air of placid respectability 
and genteel quiet. 

I am introduced to the room where the editor 
holds a levee every Friday afternoon throughout 
the year. Portraits of the late Mr. Sayers and other 
famous professors adorn one side of it ; while the 
great fight at Farnborough, the celebrated trott- 
ing mare Yixen — apparently pursued by a large 
velocipede — and other interesting pictures, cover 
the remaining walls. I soon hear a fund of in- 
structive anecdotes concerning the genii. The 
three gentlemen present have all been at different 



324 GENII OF THE RING. 

times maltreated or threatened at their hands. 
The office of referee at great prize-fights has been 
filled by each of them, and a refined - looking 
man writing at the table in the corner was beaten 
until he was insensible a few weeks ago. A fight 
was in progress, and he had been appealed to as 
umpire whether a certain blow came within the 
conditions laid down by the rules of the ring. 
The backers of the two men, not unnaturally, took 
difi'erent views, one party maintaining it was "a 
foul," and claiming the victory for the man struck, 
the other insisting it was legitimate, and that the 
combat must proceed. Some shouting and strong 
language, amid which the second of the man said 
to have been improperly hit appealed to the re- 
feree, "Yosn't that a foul, now, sir?" and almost 
in the same breath, "0, it weren't, weren't it? 
— then take that, yer (noun substantive), and 
tliaty and tliatP' accompanying each "that " with 
a savage blow under the ear, in the region of the 
heart, and upon the head. The referee fell insen- 
sible, and his physical monitor, Mr. Eoss Filer, 
having thus satisfied his Spartan sense of justice, 
went back to his corner with the air of a man who 
had done his duty in spite of opposition. Legal 
redress for the outrage was of course impossible, 
the business of the gathering and the gathering 
itself being alike forbidden by law ; but retribu- 



GENII OF THE RING. 325 

tion has, for all that, fallen upon Mr. Filer. That 
energetic zealot unites the business of a publican 
with the pastime of prize-fighting, and he has, 
since his brutal conduct, been declared dead to the 
world of sporting readers. His name is properly 
tabooed by the sporting press, his sparring dis- 
plays and benefits are never chronicled, and the 
genii themselves speak of him as a blackguard 
whom there is no redeeming. So much for Mr. 
Filer, who had, at a previous fight, encouraged 
another of the gentlemen before me, in the im- 
partial discharge of his judicial functions, by the 
cheering speech, "If he doesn't do wot's right" 
{i. e. what it suits the pocket of me, Eoss Filer, 
to call right), " we'll murder him !" 

A previous editor of The Sleepless Life, while 
acting as judge at a prize-ring, received a blow 
from a bludgeon, from which he never really rallied, 
and which caused his death. His immediate suc- 
cessor has been hitherto more fortunate, never 
having been actually struck, though frequently 
threatened. He pointed out a particular corner 
of the room we were in, between the window and 
the fire, where, by placing your back firmly against 
the wall and seizing the poker, you may, always 
supposing you are a good hand at single-stick, 
protect yourself effectually against violence. This 
was no imaginary hypothesis. The speaker has 



326 GENII or THE EING. 

had to adopt these precautions more than once 
when conversing with the genii, and when the 
arguments of the latter have assumed the shape 
of clenched fists and foul threats. 

While I mastered these suggestive details, and 
learned that several well-known pugilists were ex- 
pected to drop in that afternoon, the crowd outside 
had gradually increased. The small groups out- 
side the two public-houses opposite had received 
numerous additions, and had now merged together 
so as to form a thick fringe of frouzy humanity, 
which covered the pavement to right and left, 
balanced itself uneasily on the kerbstone, and at 
last overflowed on to the roadway. Not a pre- 
possessing crowd by any means. Irish labourers 
of distinctly bibulous tendencies, who looked list- 
lessly to right and left, as if for a new excitement, 
and expectorated thoughtfully when a prize-fighter 
passed them ; hangers-on of the ring, who might 
be hired for sparring purposes at a shilling an 
hour, and who stood like cab-horses on a stand; 
hangers-on of the pugilists, who were waiting 
patiently in the hope that stakes would be drawn 
or deposits made, and that eleemosynary stimu- 
lants would be the conditions upon which their 
services as witnesses or friends would be required ; 
dissipated - looking men whose abstract love for 
pugilism had brought them here to feast their 



GENII OF THE RING. 327 

eyes upon the heroes of their worship ; thieves 
and card-sharpers on the look-out for prey; and 
over all an indescrihahle air of v^orthless, dissolute 
raffishness : such was the mob in waiting outside 
The Sleepless Life office. 

For two mighty combats had been fought in 
the preceding week; and the principals and se- 
conds in each were, as it was well known, expected 
to confer with the editor, and talk over their 
future. On the previous Monday the Welsh mam- 
moth, O'Boldwin, had beaten Augustus Oils, after 
a protracted fight, for one hundred pounds, in 
which, I have since read, the latter was " defeated, 
but not disgraced;" and on the very day before 
our interview those well-known heroes. Raven and 
Rile, had fought for three hours and a half, for 
four hundred pounds, when, to the intense disgust 
of their backers and admirers, "both men got very 
weak, and showed symptoms of the cold shivers 
setting in," so it was agreed to draw the stakes, 
from the physical impossibility of either man 
striking a finishing blow to make him winner. 

These champions and their friends were the 
attractions of the day, and a knock at the door 
announced the arrival of the gallant Rile's second, 
Mr. Black Kicks. This gentleman's patience had 
been sorely tried by the disappointment of yester- 
day, and his expressions of disgust at the un- 



328 GENII OF THE RING. 

toward ending of "wot oughter been a finish one 
way or the other," were uttered with much feeling 
and sincerity. ''He'd rather ha' lost his money, 
he would indeed, than 'ave a fight end nohow, as 
yer may say. No, he couldn't say one was more 
blown than another; they was both blown, and 
that's truth. Eile gets wonderful slow arter he's 
been fightin' about two hours — wonderful slow, 
indeed ; while Eaven's never bin able to finish his 
man since he fought Cuss, and is, besides, allers 
on the slip, which ain't what Mr. Kicks calls 
fightin' — it ain't indeed." Kicks is a bullet- 
headed black-browed young fellow, whose civility 
to the editor reminded one somehow of veneer. 
A few more genial remarks on the sport of the 
day before, and he retires, after handing in a slip 
of written paper, which is carefully filed. 

To him succeeds a podgy pale-faced man of 
middle age, who can scarcely speak from cold, and 
whose words hiss out like steam from a teakettle. 
This is the veteran Tommy Stalker, of whom I 
hear that his fighting weight twenty years ago was 
nine stone four pounds, and whose arm — a great 
point this — now measures fifteen inches round. 
Stalker's errand is pacific, and his round full- 
moon face smiling. ''It is a little benefit I'm 
fehinkin' of takin', and if you'd be kind enough to 
give me a word in to-morrow's paper, I thought 



GENII OF THE RING. 329 

you might like to see this." " This" is a flaming 
red bill of the Fitzroy Music Hall, and sets forth 
the allurements of Stalker's night. The hero 
himself will, by particular desire, give his cele- 
brated Grecian delineations — and very curious 
must that corpulent figure look in a skin-tight 
dress. The term " Grecian" has liberal interpre- 
tation at Stalker's hands, for the delineations 
range from Hercules and the Nemsean Lion, to 
Piomulus and Kemus. 

Long before I have settled how this " well- 
known scientific fighter" contrives to represent 
twins in his own fat person — a problem I have yet 
to solve — he retires with many smiles, and is 
succeeded by Eat Bangem, affectionately spoken 
of as "ould Eat," and Beau Cuss. Bangem, a 
well-worn veteran, who is almost without front 
teeth, and whose chief peculiarity is that he al- 
ways seems to be talking with his mouth full, 
wears a tasteful breast-pin, in which the personal 
pronoun ''My" in large letters of gold surmounts 
a counterfeit human eye, and so symbolises its 
owner's acuteness. He is a civil-spoken fellow, 
who has retired from the ring, and now keeps a 
well-known tavern. Cuss is a candidate for the 
championship of England, being pledged to fight 
Zebedee Spice next May, for two hundred pounds 
and the belt ; and both Eat and he are very full 



330 GENII OF THE RING. 

of the contest of last Monday. O'Boldwin was 
originally a pupil of Bangem's, who picked him 
up in the streets, and, fascinated by his size and 
promise, gave him the rudiments of his fistic edu- 
cation. Another publican and ex-pugilist, David 
Garden, was O'Boldwin' s second at the fight he 
won last Monday; but Bangem does not mind 
this, and talks with great feeling of old times, 
before O'Boldwin was anything but physically 
great. 

Cuss is a dark-complexioned man of middle 
height, and apparently of immense strength. A 
deep broad chest, which seems almost bursting 
through the rough-napped black cutaway coat and 
waistcoat buttoned over it, a short neck, lips which 
move, when their owner speaks or laughs, so as 
to show their inner half, and to thus intensify the 
animal expression of the face, a hand and arm 
which look fit to fell a bullock, and sturdy legSy 
which seem as if a bullock's strength could not 
shake them, make Cuss a formidable competitor 
for the honours of the ring. His conversation is 
saturnine rather than animated, and turns chiefly 
upon the amount of deposit-money he and Spice 
have yet to pay. I gather that whereas five 
pounds were now paid by each man every Friday, 
the time approaches when the weekly instalment 
must be doubled. Of the drawn battle yesterday 



GENII OF THE RING. 331 

between Eaven and Kile, it is Mr. Cuss's opinion 
" both men bad a chance to win ;" while his con- 
tempt for a combatant who admitted after a battle 
that he wasn't " so much hurt as he thought he 
was," is too deep for words, and finds vent in 
expectoration. The point is mooted whether, in 
the event of Cuss winning the belt, he will be 
able to keep it afterwards, against O'Boldwin the 
redoubtable ; whereupon the face of Cuss assumes 
as doggedly savage an expression as it has been 
my lot to see, and his resolution finds words in 
" He won't get it without fighting for it, that's 
all I've got to say." 

The Fates were propitious, for Cuss and old 
Davie had scarcely left the room when the former's 
opponent in the coming fight, the great Zeb 
Spice, whose " science" is a proverb, came in. 
He looked clean, smart, and prosperous, was 
faultlessly attired as a sporting gentleman, smiled 
benignly but knowingly at me, much as if we 
shared between us the secrets of the ring, and 
then gracefully presented the editor with a couple 
of portraits of himself. A much more agreeable 
specimen of humanity than the savage - looking 
Cuss, Mr. Spice verges on dandyism in his ap- 
parel and ornaments. His magnificent chest and 
limbs were clothed in garments befitting the daily 
associate of the rank and fashion of Puddlcpool, 



532 GENII OF THE RING. 

his breast - pin, ring, watcli - chain, and silver- 
mounted switch, were massive and costly, his 
voice was persuasive, and his manner ingratiat- 
ing. It pleased me to hear him say that after 
May he would fight no more, but limit his atten- 
tion to the great Puddlepool gymnasium he is 
said to rule so well. I learn with breathless in- 
terest, though, that he has " a big 'un in training, 
who'll be quite clever enough for O'Boldwin," and 
infer that Spice's heart is, after all, in the ring 
he promises to leave. 

Tommy Scotch, a respectable-looking middle- 
aged man, formerly, I hear, a well-known fighter 
at eight stone five — I like exactitude — has a boy 
he wishes to put to school, and, after the usual 
knock at the door, comes up to the desk to con- 
sult with, and receive encouragement and advice 
from, the editor. Beattie is about to take a 
benefit, and hands in the particulars, which are 
duly filed and published. Wolloper and friend 
are uneasy as to the day fixed for their fighting, 
and request another look at " the articles." Bloss 
brings in the news that a second bobby's been 
sent to watch the crowd outside ; — there was a 
fight there of seven rounds without interruption 
-a fortnight before. Benny Bailey thinks he won't 
be ''fit" in time for his mill ; and George Fibbins 
asks for the return of the two pounds deposit- 



GENII OF THE RING. 833 

money lie left here some time back, '' which ain't 
never been covered yet." All these people, and 
many others who enter in rapid succession, are 
prize-fighters, or their tutors, disciples and abet- 
tors, and every arrangement is made upon the 
purest business principles and in the most sys- 
tematic way. The deposit -receipt is produced, 
examined, and indorsed by the editor, and Fib- 
bins walks down to the cashier's department much 
as a man would do who was transferring his sav- 
ings, or drawing the interest due to him from 
some provident-bank. 

To him succeeds Mr. Jennett, "Farmer Jen- 
nett," the well-known bookmaker, of the great 
Guelph betting-club, who is interested in the 
monument about to be erected to the memory of 
the late Mr. Sayers, and who, I take the liberty 
of remarking, is as clean and wholesome-looking 
a little gentleman as the most fastidious could 
desire. A shrewd bright eye and pleasant smile, 
a hard and rather dried-up face, quick decided 
movements of hands and arms, and a neat assort- 
ment of jewelry, including a very horsey breast- 
pin, are the points in Farmer Jennett' s appearance 
I remember best. He was Mr. Sayers's principal 
backer as well as one of his most influential and 
trustworthy friends ; and he is now his executor 
and the guardian of his memory. The farmer 



334 GENII OF THE RING. 

is disappointed at not seeing the design for the 
monument, but is gratified to hear that it will 
be completed in about nine months, and that it 
is to consist of a mausoleum with closed doors, 
guarded by Mr. Sayers's mastiff, in white marble, 
and adorned by a medallion portrait of Mr. Sayers 
outside. Should the sculptor want an advance, 
Mr. Jennett is ready for him; should the editor 
wish to see the farmer at any time, a line to the 
Guelph will be his best plan, for "being so much 
out of town when racing's on, I ain't always good 
to find in London." 

Enter here, hoarse and toothless. Bill Kind, 
of Westminster, who is fifty-two years of age, and 
is engaged to fight another man as old as himself. 
Mr. Kind looks older than he is, and hands in 
the announcement of the public-house benefit he 
proposes to take before going into training, with 
an agreeable growl, such as one might look for 
from an amiable wild-beast. " Honly thirty shil- 
lings a-side stated in last Saturday's Sleepless, 
which it oughter be twopundten," refers to the 
amount of the weekly instalment paid by each 
combatant. And Mr. Kind departs gladdened by 
the promise that this important matter shall be 
set right. 

Another knock at the much- suffering door, 
and a tall young fellow, with heavy bloodshot 



GENII OF THE EING. 335 

eyes, swollen discoloured cheeks, and a good- 
tempered sheepish expression on his vacuous face, 
comes in. This is Augustus Oils, " the defeated, 
but not disgraced," of Monday. The sympathetic 
greeting, "He's too big for you, Gus !" was evi- 
dently appreciated by the vanquished man, who 
fumbled nervously at his cap, and, though he 
smiled and laughed when speaking of his defeat, 
was evidently mortified, and out of spirits. The 
repetition of " It only shows, sir, wot a bad judge 
Willy Sands must be, who told me I could beat 
him," seemed to afford some meagre comfort; but 
the "He's too big for anyone, that's my belief," 
came out with marked sincerity; and poor Oils 
retired, after thanking all present for their kind- 
ness. Having brought his poor battered carcass 
to be seen, he was grateful not to be tvdtted on its 
having suffered in vain. He was accompanied by 
a very funny old man, whose eyes seemed staring 
in astonishment at their owner being still alive. 
Trainer, valet, hanger-on, or backer — it was not 
quite clear in which of these capacities he figured, 
or why he figured here at all. Mournfully de- 
spondent when insisting that the condition of Oils 
was perfect on the day of fighting, he became timid 
and nervous when mention was made of the com- 
pensation-benefit to be announced in to-morrow's 
Sleejokss Life. " Let us 'ave no names mentioned 



336 GENII OF THE EING. 

as backing Gus, or bringing him to fight; — a old 
friend of Field's, that's all." This speech, given 
with the air of a detected conspirator, was repeated 
mechanically and at short intervals during the 
stay of himself and Oils. Nay, five minutes after 
they had left, the door reopened, and the pro- 
minent eyes and queer figure-head face again 
looked timorously in, and as a parting shot, 
whispered mysteriously: "No names mentioned, 
ii you please — " and then pointing with thumb to 
waistcoat, with the air of a man making a startling 
and perfectly novel admission — "an old friend of 
Field's, that's all." When this elderly nuisance 
has retired finally, I ask whether Oils had his 
front teeth knocked out last Monday, or in pre- 
vious conflicts, and much to my surprise receive 
" Stomach" for answer. The curious point of this 
reply, and of its eff'ect, is, that it seems to be 
made, and is certainly received, under a dim 
sense of injury. That poor Oils should lose his 
teeth from natural causes, instead of having them 
knocked down his throat, seems a violation of the 
fitness of things, and an irregularity on the part 
of Oils to be condemned. So, when I hear that 
the " clever lad," young Walloper, who is engaged 
to fight another " clever lad" for five pounds a- 
side, and who has heard that Spice and Cuss " 'as 
changed their day of fightin' " — when I hear that 



GENII OF THE RING. 337 

liis false eye is due to an accident instead of to 
the prize-ring, I cannot help feeling that Wal- 
loper is to blame. 

The victorious Welsh mammoth, O'Boldwin, 
comes in jubilant, attended by his friend and 
second, Davie Garden, whose hostelry is his head- 
quarters, and as such is regularly advertised as 
the champion's home. The mammoth has a 
grievance. He is described in the papers as 
O'Boldwin, and as six feet seven inches high ; 
whereas he " never 'ad a Ho to his name, and six 
foot five and a 'arf is the most he hever stood." 
Rectification is promised, and the mammoth is 
appeased. I look respectfully at the hands which 
have made the cheeks of Oils to be like over-ripe 
pears, and the eyes of Oils to be as if set in beet- 
root ; and I find them large, bony, and not over- 
clean. I glance at the feet which have "toed the 
scratch" so recently and triumphantly, and I see 
that they are of a size proportionate to the mam- 
moth's height. ''Mind you don't knock your 
head," was a necessary warning as he stooped to 
enter the doorway; and the ''Don't understand 
anything about it, sir," in reply to a question as 
to his alleged leaning to Fenianism, sums up to 
a nicety my estimate of his character. Not un- 
derstanding anything about it, would, I imagine, 
but too accurately express poor Boldwin's ideas of 

z 



338 GENII OF THE EING. 

the world outside the prize-ring. Like his late 
opponent, he seemed the personij&cation of good 
temper; and if it were respectful to so describe 
the heroes of a protracted battle, I should say they 
were a couple of overgrown school-boys, each of 
whom is as wax in the hands of associates and 
leaders craftier than themselves. 

The red-faced publican, old Davie Garden, is 
in great force, for as the ostensible backer and 
trainer of Boldwin — I drop the "Ho," as requested 
— he has made money and reaped honour from the 
victory. Full of cheery suggestions for the future, 
and successive triumphs for his man, the alloy in- 
separable from earthly happiness appears in the 
profoundly sad reflection: *'You see, you can't 
fight everybody !" which chastens his otherwise 
exuberant joyousness. That Spice has " a dark 
big 'un" down at Puddlepool, who might do for 
Boldwin; that Turpin might fight agin if we 
tempted him with a hoffer ; that Pike Badun wants 
to fight the mammoth ; and that a jint benefit for 
'im and Oils will be shortly given in the hopen, 
so as to keep off the East-enders, are the heads of 
Mr. Garden's discourse; who throughout the in- 
terview gives one the impression of a man on con- 
summately good terms with himself and his little 
world. 

The next visitor, Kaven, bore a striking con- 



GENII OF THE KING. 339 

trast to Boldwin ; for while the latter' s face had 
scarcely a scratch upon it, the former was plas- 
tered and patched, and had the disappointment of 
going home that night to Warwickham without 
having settled the supremacy with his rival, Kile. 
" I have very good flesh, sir, very good indeed !" 
was his modest acknowledgment of the compliments 
paid to the fewness of his scars. For though, to 
my uninitiated gaze, a monster cavity over the 
right eye, seamed and swollen cheeks, and divers 
strips of white plaster over and about a face which 
looks pallid from loss of blood, present a shocking 
spectacle enough, they are but slight indications, 
if the battered condition of the man at the fight 
of the day before be remembered. Cob Kivers 
and a sharp business-looking man, who was one 
of Raven's backers, accompany the latter now, and 
an order is made for the money staked to be given 
up. Eile had drawn his before my arrival; and 
a terrible rumour reached the editor's room soon 
after, that he was " in the hands of the Philis- 
tines," and had been accompanied to the bank 
where the cheque from The Sleepless office would 
be cashed by two light-hearted gentlemen, who 
are fond of card-playing, and renowned for their 
good fortune. Cob looks half Jew, half mulatto, 
and is fashionably dressed in a long black surtout, 
an obtrusive bright green scarf covering his chest. 



340 GENII OF THE EING. 

Tlie backer, the fighter, and lie cliat pleasantly 
about Raven, " first taking a little rest," and then 
challenging some presumptuous person unnamed, 
who has publicly vaunted his superiority. A short 
talk as to the probability of the other backers fol- 
lowing the liberal example of the one present, and 
giving Raven the money they staked on him ; and 
the trio depart. 

I thank the editor of The Sleepless Life for 
the privilege so courteously accorded me, and take 
my leave. Pondering upon what I have seen and 
heard, I pass absently into the street, still filled 
with raffish loungers, and am only roused from a 
painful reverie by having a dirty finger thrust in 
my face, while its owner asseverates with many 
oaths as he points me out for the admiration of 
his fellows : " Tell yer he's the cove as found the 
money for Davie Garden to back Boldwin with, 
and he's just come out o' the Life office, vere he's 
bin a droring the stakes." 



SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 

Eeadees of BelVs Life must have remarked tliat 
under the heading *' Canine Fancy" a series of 
announcements are regularly given, which are not 
quite intelligible to the world at large. The "re- 
nowned old house at home will, on the following 
Sunday, show a stud of matchless beauties, the 
arrangements being in the hands of old fanciers ;" 
" dog Pincher and his master have returned home, 
and, by way of a treat, the former will destroy 100 
rats under five and a half minutes," as a sort of 
preliminary to the more important duty of two 
days later, when he is pledged to a '' 200 rat 
match;" "a respected veteran" gives a house- 
warming, and invites thereto all the bull-dogs of 
his acquaintance, when " the great number of 
those majestic animals will surpass anything of 
the kind ever witnessed," and when " several of 
the ^ upper ten' will be present ;" shares in the 
" Limited Toy-dog Company" may be secured by 
paying a modest call of 2s. 6c/. per share ; tavern 
bars at which the printed pedigree of the cham- 



342 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 

pion bull Crib and the ratting rules may be had 
at any time;" rat-matches "between two gentle- 
men for 51. a-side ;" and Sunday - evening shows, 
whereat the chairman '^will show his prize -dog 
Jerry against all comers, faced by a gentleman 
who will produce his stud of little pets," and 
where the same functionary "will exhibit his stud 
of black-and-tan spaniels, vice some one who will 
show his stud of toy- dogs." 

Such are the mystic bits of information to 
which the great sporting organ devotes each week 
more .than half a column of its space. Occupying 
the centre part of a page, having yachting intelli- 
gence and chess problems as its out-guards, it 
is to be presumed that these paragraphs are in- 
tensely interesting to those to whom they are ad- 
dressed. Here, then, is a field for philosophic 
inquiry. Given statements which are so much gib- 
berish to nineteen educated readers out of twenty ; 
given a class to whom they are all-important : how 
shall we ascertain the conditions governing the 
members of that class, the links binding them to- 
gether, and the exceptional circumstances of their 
lives? The problem is easily solved. If the 
inquirer will select between " matchless beauties" 
and " old fanciers," "majestic animals" and "toy- 
dogs," and then give up an hour some Sunday 
evening, he may ascertain all particulars for him- 



SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 343 

self. Let us look in first at the back parlour of a 
tavern in Long-acre, when, just as the adjacent 
church, St. Paul's, Covent-garden, is discharging 
its congregation, and when a fair proportion of 
the pedestrians you meet have prayer-books in 
their hands the '^show" is going on. There is 
neither let nor hindrance to your admission. You 
are told to walk in by a gentleman at the bar, 
and find yourself one of a mixed company of a 
dozen or so. Five of these are men, the rest 
dogs. The rattling of chains proceeds from the 
dogs, the oaths and strong language from the 
men. The former are chained to iron rings fixed 
in the wall, or to the legs of the tables at which 
the latter sit ; or share the table with tumblers of 
gin-and-water, pewter tankards of beer, and clay 
pipes and tobacco. The " show" is very like a 
tap-room, and the guests are a rough-and-ready, 
plain-spoken set. They call spades spades very fre- 
quently during your stay, and tell you of the '^bob- 
bies having stopped a fight which wos to 'ave come 
off near the Welsh 'Arp this wery Sunday morn- 
ing." Reminiscences of other fights, not stopped, 
whereat the speakers looked on ; anticipations of 
a great ratting-match to come, with speculations 
as to the victor, and hopes for the guvnor's suc- 
cess, follow this ; and then you hear, under the 
moist seal of tavern confidence, of a coming dog- 



344 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 

figlit, *' which you'll keep it dark, for some folks 

makes themselves so nasty perticler." All 

this time a white bull- dog in the corner whines 
approval, and rushing to the end of his chain 
places his chin against your knee, and looks 
"long live our national sports," with all the au- 
thority conferred by a heavy growl, watery eyes, 
bow legs, and a brawny chest. Now thirsty 
customers produce dogs from unexpected parts of 
their body, like the conjuror's vase of gold fish, 
and whisper inquiries as to the fight and the "guv- 
nor's chances;" and a little black-and-tan spaniel 
in a right-hand corner, of a vain exacting spirit, not 
receiving the attention his self-estimated merits 
demand, proceeds to leisurely choke himself with 
his chain by twisting it round the leg of the 
table, thus evincing a suicidal tendency almost 
human in its governing cause. His master — a 
hard-mouthed prosaic man in a white-linen jacket 
and brown cords — administers consolation in the 
shape of strong language, together with blows on 
the head and jerks at the collar, and emulates 
Alderman Cute in his determination to put sui- 
cide down. The conversation is only momentarily 
interrupted by this incident, and continues to re- 
volve round dog-fight, match, and " Welsh 'Arp," 
up to the time we leave. 

Now wending our steps across Leicester-square, 



SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 345 

and turning up tlie street facing the end of the 
Haymarket, we proceed to the " old house at 
home," to enjoy the society of " old fanciers," 
and '' matchless beauties," and to still further 
test the conversation of the dog-dealing, dog-wor- 
shipping classes. At the end of a flagged court, 
where the windows of every house are open, and 
show people panting for air as they lean out, with 
children popping round and about the path, and a 
strong smell of old boots and strong tobacco com- 
bining to assail your nose ; where you read in 
staring characters " Great Eatting Match," and 
pushing at a swing-door some yards farther on, 
are in a bar, with gay cotton pocket-handkerchiefs 
hanging on a clothesline — apparently to dry, but 
really to show off the colours of a prize-fighting 
champion — above it, some rather disreputable- 
looking men around, and a highly ornate young 
lady behind it. There is no need to ask the 
whereabouts of the show. The chinking of chains, 
the pattering of small soft feet on the wooden 
floor of the room to the right, the ''matchless 
beauty" on the squinting gentleman's knee, and 
the playful bark of the small Skye opposite — all 
point this out to your inexperienced mind, even if 
the ready, ''Walk in, gentlemen, please," of the 
bright-eyed, sharp-faced youth, who is said to be 
the landlord, but who looks strangely young for 



346 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 

that liigh position, did not promptly greet every 
new-comer. 

A low-roofed room, with portraits of pugilists, 
game-cocks, and dogs, bills of the ratting match, 
and a large picture of a prize-fight upon its walls ; 
•sawdust, wooden benches, chairs, tables, dogs, and 
si)ittoons on its floor, and forty to fifty "fanciers" 
of different ages, smoking, drinking, and talking 
round its centre. Such is the parlour. The his- 
tory and pursuits of your companions are written 
on their faces, even if they did not unconsciously 
paint them in their talk. The resemblance be- 
tween some of the bull-dogs and their owners is so 
remarkable as to be strong testimony in favour of 
the theory of natural selection. Hanging jowls, 
protruding teeth from half-closed mouths, and ag- 
gressively prominent ears, are common to both; 
though, as if to defy generalisation and to scoff at 
rules, there are men present who might, as far as 
externals go, be easily made up for the pulpit, and 
whose thoughtful, lofty countenances show some- 
thing of the fire of genius when the merits of 
*' 'Arry's Novice," or the remembrance of the vir- 
tues of a departed " purty a little dawg as ever 
you see, with a palate as black as hink — I giv' 
yer my word," rouses their latent eloquence, and 
inspires their souls. A high-cheeked man in a 
Scotch bonnet, who has a lovely little Skye terrier 



SUNDAY DOG- SHOWS. 347 

under each arm, and is just about to produce 
another, as it seems, from his watch-pocket, is in 
interesting conversation with a sharp-eyed Jewish- 
looking man opposite, whose "Bring yer dawgs 
'ere; that's the way; and if yer make a little 
money, why yer can spend it, and" (with much 
emphasis) " if yer don't, yer can't, and that's where 
it is," receives " That is right !" in approving 
answer. 

We are now at a toy-dog show, and all present 
are toys, from the bright-eyed little King Charles, 
with floss-silk ears, to the ferocious-looking bull- 
dog, which the equally ferocious-looking man is 
nursing as if it were a kitten. " Like lambs, 
until they're roused, and then they're devils ; 
that's their sort," explains this gentleman, who 
again strengthened the likeness between his ani- 
mal and himself by the contrast between the 
fierceness of his appearance and the mellifluous 
civility of his tones. 

A little playful badinage between the Jewish 
gentleman and a new arrival, who is sceptical as 
to the "certainty" of some coming event; con- 
stant and stentorian shouts of " Any orders, gen- 
tlemen, please ?" from a bustling waiter, whose 
costume is that of a patron of the ring, who has 
donned the white apron in fun ; surprise at the 
great excitement about the dog-fight for five-and- 



348 SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 

twenty a-side (" wich it ain't 'arf so much as if 
two men were goin' to mill for a 'underd, and 
yet it's thought ten times as much of," from a 
broken-nosed gentleman, who is as palpably dis- 
gusted with the degeneracy of the age as was 
Dennis the hangman when he heard poor Barnaby 
loved his mother) ; repetitions of the landlord's 
" Walk in, gentlemen," as men, whose dress 
shows them to be mechanics, and with dogs under 
their arms, slouch to the doorway; potations of 
" 'arf-and-'arf," " cooper," and hot grog on every 
side ; conversation concerning departed dogs ; the 
present whereabouts of famous dogs ; the recent 
addition of stuffed dogs to a tavern -parlour ; some 
whispered information to the effect that our lithe- 
figured, urbane landlord was formerly the " cham- 
pion of the feather-weights;" comments upon dogs 
present, and chronological ana as to dogs absent, 
their prowess, their capabilities, and their pluck, 
— while away the time. Perfect order is observed. 
All present appear to regard dogs as the great 
business of life ; and though the exigencies of 
bread-winning may compel some of them to keep 
small general-shops, to deal in coals and potatoes, 
or to vend fruit, they evidently reserve their 
best energies for the animals that surround us 
now. 

Here, then, as it seemed to us, is a phase of 



SUNDAY DOG-SHOWS. 349 

London life as little known to the general reader 
as the atomic theory is to an African savage. We 
have in our midst a race of dog-worshippers, who 
spend their leisure in cultivating the society of 
their idols, and their Sunday evenings in exhibit- 
ing and bragging about their goodness. Taverns 
are opened for these worshippers, " respected 
veterans" minister to their wants, newspaper- 
columns are devoted to the subject they affect, 
and other accessories are not wanting to gratify 
their tastes. Thus, in the days of cheap educa- 
tion and national progress, within a stone's throw 
of fashionable thoroughfares, assemblages are held 
regularly of men who concentrate their hopes and 
aspirations upon one animal, and vaunt it as the 
object of their affections, and the master of their 
time. 



THE END. 



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